


Baking for Ghosts

by disseria



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Artist Derek, Baker Stiles, Canon-Typical Violence, Chinese medicine, Demons, Exorcisms, F/M, Ghosts, Horror, M/M, Minor Character Death, Panic Attacks, Poltergeists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 10:32:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2648813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disseria/pseuds/disseria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his mother dies, Stiles starts seeing ghosts. One day, he figures out that if he bakes the right thing, he can help the ghosts cross over to the other side. When he meets a group of seers who do the same thing that he does, he realizes that he doesn’t have to be alone anymore. He can have friends who really understand what he does, and one of them, an artist named Derek, might eventually be something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

>   
> [Baking for Ghosts Stiles cover full](http://disseria.deviantart.com/art/Baking-for-Ghosts-Stiles-cover-full-496208209) by [disseria](http://disseria.deviantart.com/) on [deviantART](http://www.deviantart.com)

The door creaked softly, the same way that it had every other time Stiles had gone into the old abandoned house. It was the middle of the afternoon, the sky clear and the sun bright, but inside the house it was dark and gray. His footsteps tracked through the dust on the floor, back and forth, recording his activity there over the last few weeks. Before Stiles had walked through it for the first time, the dust had been undisturbed by animals, vandals, or squatters, growing into a thick layer that covered everything. It was no surprise, given the building’s reputation for being haunted, which Stiles had always ignored, much to his chagrin.

The plastic bag he carried crinkled as he set it on the table, the scent of cranberry and orange wafting out and filling the room. Stiles didn’t care for cranberry, but it didn’t really matter whether he liked it or not. What mattered was whether or not Mrs. McCleary liked it. And, she did.

He dragged a rickety chair to the table and sat down in front of the orange cranberry bread, just pulled from the oven a mere two hours ago. It was still warm as he grasped a corner with two fingers and pulled a bit of it off, releasing the steam from inside. He could sense Mrs. McCleary in the room, watching him. The orange cranberry bread enticed her, as Stiles knew that it would. It had been one of her favorites, and she hadn’t eaten any for at least 25 years.

Between one blink and another, Mrs. McCleary was sitting next to Stiles, staring at him with her glowing eyes. He only barely managed to suppress his flinch. No matter how many times it happened, it never ceased to startle him. Like most of the ghosts he encountered, Mrs. McCleary was translucent, and gave off a pale blue-gray light. Stiles took a deep breath, and lifted the piece of cranberry orange bread to his mouth. Mrs. McCleary’s gaze never wavered from the morsel. Stiles closed his eyes and chewed thoughtfully, a soft cranberry exploding in his mouth, releasing its bittersweet tartness.

He swallowed.

He felt it when it happened: the moment Mrs. McCleary left. Not that she had left the room, or left the house. But, _left_ left. Stiles opened his eyes and looked around, pursing his lips to the side in thought. He sat quietly for a moment, and lifted the bag off the table, heavy with the weight of basically an entire loaf of orange cranberry bread. Maybe his dad would want it.

He walked out of the house, into the sunlight, closing the door behind him. When he got to the sidewalk, he turned to look at it. The house still looked the same, but he could tell there was something different about it now. It was empty now. The next time he saw it, the windows would probably be broken and the walls tagged with graffiti.

“Goodbye, Mrs. McCleary,” Stiles whispered, his voiced laced with melancholy. “I hope you can have some peace now.”

* * *

His dad stopped bringing him to visit his mom after a while. One time, she couldn’t remember who Stiles was, and he cried himself to sleep in his father’s arms. She died a few weeks later.

But, that wasn’t the last time Stiles saw her.

The first time, he saw her in the mirror while he was brushing his teeth one morning. He screamed and tried to run away, but slammed into the door instead, falling and braining himself on the counter. When he opened his eyes, he was in the hospital with a concussion. His mom was looking down at him, translucent with glowing eyes. He didn’t scream that time.

He started seeing them everywhere after that. At school, in the park, at the sheriff station where his dad worked. There were a lot whenever he had to go to the hospital.

He realized pretty quickly that he couldn’t acknowledge them, or else they would start following him around. One of them followed him for three months. After a while, he wasn’t even embarrassed about her being in the shower with him every day.

One day, his dad brought home some brownie mix. He taught Stiles how to crack the eggs and mix the ingredients together. Mary, that was what Stiles decided to call the ghost that kept following him, watched as they pulled the hot brownies out of the oven.

“The box says we have to let the brownies cool for ten minutes before we can cut them,” his dad said.

“Okay,” Stiles said, sitting down on a stool to watch the brownies cool off.

His dad came up behind him and started rubbing circles on his back with the palm of his hand.

“What’re you thinking about, kiddo?” his dad asked.

Mary was staring at the brownies with him.

“Nothing,” Stiles said.

“I’ll go pour us some milk,” his dad said.

“Okay.”

They both sipped their milk while they watched the brownies cool, the sheriff occasionally checking his watch to see how much time had gone by. They didn’t talk.

After seven minutes, the sheriff stood up and grabbed a butter knife. “I think it’s been long enough.”

Stiles gave him a huge grin in anticipation. His dad lifted a structurally unstable brownie square out of the pan and put it on a plate. He handed the plate to Stiles.

“Be careful,” he warned. “It’s hot.”

Stiles tried to lift it carefully with his fingertips, but quickly jerked his hands back and flinched at the heat. Jumping from his seat, he ran to the silverware drawer and pulled out two forks, one for him, and one for his dad. He ran back, set a fork next to his dad’s plate, and stabbed the corner off of his brownie with the other.

He could see the steam rising from the piece of brownie, but the chocolate smelled so good, he had to eat it! He blew on it a little bit, but quickly put the tiny piece of brownie into his mouth, breathing around it and letting it roll around a bit inside of his mouth until it was cool enough to chew.

All of this was apparently very fascinating to Mary.

Eventually, he was able to swallow the piece of brownie and wash it down with some milk. And, Mary was gone. He looked around the room, but he knew she wouldn’t be there. He could feel it somehow. And, he knew he would never see her again.

“She’s gone,” he said.

“What?” his dad asked, around a bite of hot brownie.

“Nothing,” Stiles answered, stabbing his brownie again and shoving a piece of it in his mouth.

* * *

“Funfetti cake!” Stiles exclaimed, running into the kitchen with the cake mix in his hands.

“You want funfetti cake?” his dad asked, confused.

“We have to,” Stiles said, “for Mom’s birthday.”

“Stiles…” his dad trailed off, not knowing what to say. Claudia had died ten months ago. “I don’t…”

“We have to!” Stiles cut him off, his seven-year-old face becoming very serious. “Mom always wants funfetti for her birthday!”

His dad sighed and ran his fingers through Stiles’ fuzzy short brown hair. “Okay, okay.”

Stiles slammed the cake mix onto the counter and enthusiastically started pulling bowls out of the cupboards. He didn’t tell his dad that his mom was in the kitchen with them. He couldn’t see her the way Stiles could. She couldn’t talk, none of the ghosts ever did, but he wanted her to see they were making her favorite cake for her birthday.

“I can do it myself,” he announced when his dad tried to help him. He cracked the eggs, the way his dad had shown him, but he let his dad help measure the oil and the milk. They both held the mixer.

Stiles stirred some milk into the funfetti frosting, the way his mom always used to, while his dad got the cake into the oven. After the cake was cool, they both slathered the frosting on top of it.

“No!” Stiles yelled, when his dad lifted the knife over the cake.

His dad pulled the knife back in surprise. “What?”

“We need to put a candle and sing happy birthday!” Stiles insisted.

His dad blinked a few times, set the knife down, and gave him a small smile. He rummaged around one of the drawers, producing a candle and a lighter. While they sang, Stiles stole glances up at his mom.

“Do you want to blow out the candle?” his dad asked, his voice cracking.

Stiles nodded happily. He closed his eyes and made a birthday wish, not sure if it would work, since it wasn’t his birthday, but just in case, and then blew out the candle. He smiled broadly while the sheriff cut two big pieces of cake. He put each of them on a plate and then handed a plate to Stiles, who immediately stabbed the corner off with his fork and shoveled it into his mouth.

He loved funfetti, almost as much as his mom. He swallowed and was about to reach for another bite when he froze. Not moving his head, he looked left, and he looked right, but she was gone. His eyes welled up with tears and his fork clattered onto the table.

“Stiles?” his dad asked. “What’s wrong?”

“She’s gone!” Stiles screamed hysterically. “She’s gone!”

His dad’s face fell, and he quickly moved to Stiles and picked him up, holding him close with one hand at the back of his head.

“I thought you wanted funfetti?” he said, not sure what had set Stiles off.

Stiles sobbed into his shoulder and clung to him like a limpet on a rock.

“Shh,” his dad said as he stroked the back of Stiles’ head. “I’m here. I’m here.”

Stiles only held on to him tighter and continued to cry. He eventually passed out. His dad carried him to his room and gently laid him in his bed, having to pry Stiles’ hands apart from where they were clasped behind his neck. After pulling off his shoes and pulling the covers up over him, he sat down next to his son and slowly stroked his hair.

“I’m sorry, Stiles,” he whispered, a tear rolling down his cheek. “I wish I could make this better for you.”


	2. Chapter 2

It was less than an hour into the first day of class and already the ghost was making it’s way towards him. Stiles stared down at his notes and scribbled furiously as the professor droned on about alleles or something. He thought he had done a reasonably good job of ignoring the specter, this time a middle aged man with glasses, a little soft around the middle. 

Stiles sighed when the ghost got to his desk. But, then it kept going. Stiles’ eyebrows drew together in confusion and he chanced a look behind him. The ghost had stopped in front of another student’s desk, a woman with silky waves of black hair framing a beautiful pale face. She was looking up at the ghost with a small sad smile. He glanced at the ghost, then back at the woman, gasping softly and swiveling back around when he realized that she was looking directly at him. Grimacing down at his desk, he slowly turned his head to look over his shoulder.

Yup, she was still looking. 

Stiles checked his watch and saw that the class was about to wrap up for the day. When the professor dismissed them, he quickly grabbed his bag and shoved his notes inside, determined to get out of there as fast as possible. 

Trying to fight the slight edge of panic he felt welling up inside of him, he didn’t notice until he was practically on top of her that the woman was standing at the door, apparently waiting for him. 

He swallowed.

“We need to talk,” she said, when he was close enough that she didn’t have to shout. 

Stiles took a deep breath and gave a resigned nod, as she walked through the door, clearly expecting to be followed. 

“Look,” Stiles said to her back, “I didn’t mean to stare…”

“You saw him!” she said, cutting him off as she spun to face him in the hallway.

“What?!” Stiles exclaimed, back pedaling. “What are you talking about?”

“You. Saw. Him,” the woman said, taking a step towards him.

“Saw who?” Stiles asked, though he knew it was useless. He felt his face growing red.

The woman smirked and gave him the side-eye. “I’m Allison,” she said, smiling and holding out her hand.

He shook her hand saying, “Stiles.”

“So, Stiles,” she said, as if trying out a new sound, “how long have you been able to see ghosts?”

Stiles deflated and began to explain. “My mom died when I was six. She was the first, but I started seeing them after that.”

“I saw my first one when I started my period,” Allison said, a little too candidly for Stiles’ taste. He jerked his head back in response, which made Allison roll her eyes. She reached into her purse and pulled out a card. “Here.”

“Lucky Herb Company,” Stiles said, reading the card. “What is this?”

“There’s some people I want you to meet,” Allison said. “We’ll be at that shop tomorrow at three. Can you make it?”

“Yeah?” Stiles said, though he wasn’t ready to commit to anything with a woman he had just met and knew nothing about. Well, except for the fact that she could see ghosts, which was cool.

“Good!” Allison said, accepting his answer as an agreement. “I’ll see you then!”

“But…” Stiles began, but it was too late; she was already walking away.

* * *

Stiles parked across the street from the address on the card. Lucky Herb Company didn’t have a website, so he didn’t exactly know what kind of place it was, but Google Maps had shown him what it looked like. It had a big yellow sign with green words, along with some Chinese characters in green that Stiles could only guess translated to “Lucky Herb Company.”

It was in a quiet part of town, so parking wasn’t the problem that it typically was in Berkeley. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he walked across the street, then pushed the door open, causing a bundle of little bells to jangle and announce his presence.

The first thing he noticed was the smell, assaulting his senses with God knows what. It was musky and muddy and herbal and spicy all at the same time, Eau de Pier One dialed up to eleven.

“Stiles!” Allison called out from behind a counter, which was filled with some of the most bizarre things Stiles had ever seen. “You made it!”

She was standing next to a man, a hair shorter than Stiles, with dusky skin, floppy black hair, a crooked jawline, and what Stiles could only describe as a puppy dog smile.

“Stiles, this is my fiancé, Scott,” she said, gently placing her hand on Scott’s arm. “Scott, this is Stiles, the guy I told you about in my Biology class.”

“You’re the dude that sees dead people!” Scott exclaimed, sounding way more excited about it than Stiles was comfortable with.

Someone walked through the beaded curtain leading to the back room. “Is he here?” the man said, blinking at Stiles with intense, broody eyes. 

Stiles almost flinched at how pretty he was. His strong jaw was covered with dark stubble, you could almost call it a beard, and the olive green Henley he was wearing did absolutely nothing to disguise the perfect planes of his muscled torso. Stiles wanted to walk up to him and touch his hair, it looked so soft.

He realized he was staring and that his mouth was open, so he closed it. 

Allison cleared her throat. “Um, Stiles, this is Derek. Derek,” she said, gesturing at Stiles, “Stiles.”

Derek crossed his arms loosely, causing his biceps to bulge against the thin material of his shirt, and Stiles’ eyes to bulge out of his head. 

Derek cocked his head to the side curiously and smirked. “So, you’re the one who sees ghosts.”

Stiles swallowed and nodded. His eyes shifted when he saw movement behind Derek, and a petite woman with long, flowing, fiery locks walked into the room. This was bad. She was stunning. Gorgeous. And, Stiles had always had a thing for red-heads.

“So, you’re Stiles, huh?” she said, twirling a strand of hair around a pale finger. 

“Stiles, this is my best friend, Lydia.” Allison announced.

Stiles gave her a nervous smile.

“So, uh,” Stiles began, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Are these the people you wanted me to meet?”

“Yes!” Allison answered, brightly. “It’s not every day we find another person that can see ghosts.”

His gaze went from face to face around the room. “Wait, you can all see ghosts?”

“Yeah,” Scott answered. “We like to call ourselves ‘The Ghostbusters’!”

Derek glanced at him in annoyance. “You’re the only one that calls us that.”

“But, I thought we voted on it?” Scott said. It came out almost sounding like a whine.

Lydia was shaking her head at him slowly and disapprovingly. “We don’t bust anything, Stiles. We just…” she waved her hands in front of her as if she were shooing something away, “help them along.”

This piqued Stiles interest, and he approached the counter. “What do you mean, ‘Help them along?’”

“Well, the reason you see ghosts is because they’re stuck here,” Allison explained. “We help them to get,” she shrugged, “unstuck.”

“Huh,” Stiles said, placing his hands on his hips, thinking back to all of the ghosts that had disappeared over the years whenever he managed to bake and eat just the right thing. “I guess I never really thought about it. So, what do you do? You read Latin out of a Bible and sprinkle Holy Water on things?”

Allison made a face at that. “There are some people who do it that way. It’s kind of archaic and violent, if you ask me. We like to take a more holistic approach.”

“What do you mean?” asked Stiles.

“Well, I mostly write poetry,” she said. “Scott is a licensed practitioner of Eastern medicine. Lydia dances, and Derek paints."

“How does it work?” asked Stiles.

“It’s different for each of us,” Allison said. “Mostly I sit with the spirit, see what comes to me with my writing. It usually comes out a little abstract, but after a few hours, sometimes a few days, they eventually work whatever it is out of their system, and then they move on.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Stiles said. “How do you do it?” he asked Scott.

“My specialty is dealing with people who died from disease and stuff,” Scott answered. “I have to figure out how they died and then make the medicine that would’ve cured them.”

“How do you cure someone who’s already dead?” Stiles pressed.

“Eastern medicine is all about balancing the different parts of the body and spirit,” Scott explained. “There’s hot and cold, wet and dry. The imbalance doesn’t go away just because somebody dies. If I can bring balance to their spirit, then sometimes they can let go.”

“One time, he cured a ghost with acupuncture,” Allison said, proudly.

“You can get rid of ghosts with acupuncture?” Stiles asked, surprised.

Lydia giggled. 

“That was one time!” Scott exclaimed, sounding annoyed. “Nothing was working, so we got the ghost to go into Allison’s body, and I did some acupuncture on her, and the spirit finally went away.”

Stiles nodded, comparing what Allison and Scott said to what he did with baking.

“What are you thinking about?” Allison asked. “This isn’t too much for you, is it?”

“No,” Stiles reassured her. “It’s just that a lot of what you’re saying, it makes sense. I’m just trying to figure out how that all works with all of the things that I’ve seen.”

“Well, why don’t you tell us what you’ve seen, and maybe we can help you,” Allison suggested.

He nodded again. “Every once in a while, I come across a ghost, right?” Stiles explained. “And, sometimes, I just get this feeling that they want something from me.”

“We can teach you,” Derek said. “We’ve been doing this for a long time. We can figure out a way for you to deal with them.”

“But, that’s just it,” Stiles said. “A lot of times, I get this sense that I need to make chocolate chip cookies, or blueberry scones, and so I make it, and then I eat it, and the ghost just disappears.”

Derek’s eyes widened in surprise, but it was Lydia who spoke. “You didn’t tell us he was a shepherd,” she said, almost accusingly. She was looking at Stiles, but was clearly talking to Allison.

“I didn’t know,” Allison replied, looking at Stiles with newfound respect.

“What’s a shepherd?” Stiles asked.

“It’s what we do,” Allison said. “We _shepherd_ the ghosts to the other side. Usually it takes years of training to figure out if a person is even capable of doing it, let alone the particular method that person will have the most success with.”

“Do you do it a lot?” asked Scott. “The baking thing?”

“All the time,” Stiles said, starting to feel uncomfortable with all of them staring.

“Define ‘all the time,’” Derek said.

“Every couple of months or so, I guess,” Stiles answered.

This earned him some impressed nods.

“I told you he was special!” Allison said, grabbing his upper arms and hugging him from behind.

“I’m lucky if I do two or three a year,” Scott said. “They usually get even less,” he continued, gesturing at the rest of the group.

“That’s cuz I mostly deal with the angry ones,” Derek said, in his own defense. “Right before they poltergeist.” 

“I’ve heard of a lot of different ways of shepherding,” Allison said. “But, this is the first time I’ve ever heard of someone baking for ghosts.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely a new one,” Lydia added, “But, apparently, it works.”

Talking to people who understood exactly what he had been dealing with for most of his life was something Stiles had never experienced before. He didn’t know how to describe the feeling growing inside of him. They were still strangers for the most part, but he already felt closer to them than anyone else he had ever met, besides his father. And, as they continued talking about ghosts and shepherding, he felt something settle inside. He hadn’t known he was looking, but after all of these years of being alone, he’d finally found them.


	3. Chapter 3

“How long have we been driving across this bridge?” Lydia asked, lifting her sunglasses up to look at the fog.

“I don’t know,” Allison replied. “A while actually, now that you mention it.” She gripped the steering wheel and peered into the thick white haze. “It’s late for fog, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Lydia said, sticking her sunglasses on top of her head and looking out of the passenger side window. “I don’t drive across the Richmond Bridge that much, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen it this foggy. This is like Golden Gate levels of fog.”

Allison glanced into the rearview mirror. “All the other cars are gone.” She said, trying to stay calm. 

“Maybe you slowed down because of the fog and didn’t realize it,” Lydia said, sounding more like she was trying convince herself than Allison. “It usually only takes like five minutes to get across the Richmond Bridge. I’m sure we’re almost there.”

“You’re right,” Allison said, giving her a determined nod. “Any minute now.”

They drove in eerie silence for another five minutes. Allison pressed down harder on the gas.

Another five minutes passed, and Lydia squinted into the fog again. “We’ve been driving across this bridge for half an hour,” she said, an edge of panic to her voice.

“Lydia, calm down,” Allison said. “That’s crazy. There’s no way…” she trailed off as she checked the clock on the dashboard. “Okay, well we deal with crazy all the time. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for this.”

Allison started to get nervous when another ten minutes went by and there was still no indication that the bridge was going to end.

“Maybe this is a dream,” Lydia said. “Maybe it’s just a dream. But, I’m pretty sure I’m awake. Allison, are you awake?”

“I’m awake.”

“Okay then,” Lydia said, “not a dream.” She chewed on her bottom lip and closed her eyes, trying to settle her nerves. Turning her head to the side, she tried to really look at the fog. “Allison,” she began. “You need to pull over.”

“Why?” Allison asked. “I’m sure the end of the bridge is gonna show up any second now.”

“Allison,” Lydia repeated, “you need to pull over. I don’t think this is fog.”

This time it was Allison who was squinting into the opaque whiteness surrounding them. “Oh my God,” she whispered, as she took her foot off the gas and pulled over to the side.

Lydia took a deep breath and nodded once. “It’s ghosts. This is a haunting.”

“This is insane,” Allison said. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.” 

Lydia unbuckled her seatbelt and got out of the car, with Allison quickly following.

“There’s so many of them,” Lydia whispered. 

She looked in the direction they were driving and saw nothing but fog. Behind them and all around them, it was the same. Stepping up to the railing, she looked down. Fog. The silence was absolute. No cars, no birds, no waves. Even the echoes of their footsteps were swallowed up by the fog. It was like someone had put them inside of a jar filled with cotton. 

Lydia took a deep breath. Walking into the middle of the street, she raised her hands to the sky, then slowly bent forward until she was touching her toes. After a few seconds, she lifted her torso back up, and with one arm stretched up and the other curved in front of her, she executed three pirouettes in a row, taking a single small step forward between each of them.

“What are you doing?” Allison asked, following behind her.

“Dancing,” Lydia replied, taking a large step forward with one foot, spreading her arms wide, and throwing her head back until she was almost looking backwards. “Did you bring any pens and paper?”

“I always have pens and paper,” Allison said, scoffing.

“You probably want to get them,” Lydia said, standing up straight again, and leaping to the side. “Because I don’t think we’re going to be able to get off this bridge until we take care of these ghosts.”

“There’s hundreds of ghosts out here,” Allison said. “You do realize how long it would take to shepherd this many spirits, don’t you?”

Lydia cocked her head to the side and twirled. “Well, you should probably start writing, then.”

Allison looked into the fog again, then started jogging back towards the car. This was absolutely nuts. There was no way they could handle this many ghosts. But, Lydia had a point. What else were they supposed to do?

After popping the trunk of her car, she grabbed the notebook she always kept in there, opening it to the first blank page. She sat down in the driver’s seat, reached across to the glove compartment, and pulled out a pen. Leaning her head back, she held the pen over the paper, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. A few seconds later, faster than it had ever happened before, words started flowing onto the page.

_Red, dying daffodils,_  
_Angry mother,_  
_Brown, broken boxes,_  
_A saltine withers away because nobody loves it._  
_This is my home._  
_A floral pattern across bedspreads beckons,_  
_I know not where to start, only where to begin._  
_My life has been taken, and given to me._

Three hours later, a sharp knocking against the window snapped Allison from her trance. Lydia was leaning with one hand against the car, sweating heavily and breathing hard. Allison rolled down the window.

“I got two of them to cross over,” Lydia said, panting. “You?”

“Just one so far,” Allison replied. She checked her watch. “I guess we’re not making it to Muir Woods today.”

“You were right,” Lydia said, her breathing beginning to slow. “We can’t do this. There’s too many of them. We need help. You should call Scott.”

“Scott’s at a conference in L.A., remember?” Allison said, pulling out her phone. “Let me try Derek.”

Lydia waited patiently, trying to get her breathing under control while Allison called.

“It went straight to voicemail,” Allison said, hanging up. “He probably forgot to charge it again.”

“What about Stiles?” Lydia asked. “Do you have his number?”

“Actually, I do,” Allison said, looking through her contacts. “But, he does his thing through baking. He can’t bring an oven with him.”

“No,” Lydia agreed, “but you can give him Derek’s address so he can tell Derek what’s happening.”

“Good thinking,” Allison said, dialing the number.

“Hello?” Stiles answered after the second ring.

“Hi, Stiles! It’s Allison. How are you?”

“Oh, hi! I’m good. How are you?” Stiles replied.

“Um, not great actually,” Allison said. “Lydia and I are kind of having a situation and we were wondering if you could help.”

“What’s going on?” Stiles asked.

“We’re stuck on the Richmond Bridge,” Allison said. “Scott’s out of town, and Derek’s phone went straight to voicemail. We were wondering, if we gave you Derek’s address, could you go to his place and let him know what’s going on?”

“Do you need to be picked up?” Stiles asked. “I can come get you.”

“Actually, we’re stuck because some ghosts trapped us here,” Allison said, looking up at Lydia. “We’ve shepherded some of them across, but there’s too many of them. It might help if you were here, too, but since you do it with baking, I’m not sure how much you’d be able to do.”

“Uh, yeah, I’m not sure either, but this sounds pretty serious. I’ll do whatever. What’s Derek’s address?” Stiles asked.

Allison gave it to him.

“That’s not too far from me,” Stiles said. “I should be able to get there in ten minutes, maybe? We’ll come get you as soon as we can.”

“Thanks, Stiles,” Allison said. “You’re a life saver. Literally.”

“See you in a bit.” Stiles hung up.

Allison put the phone in her pocket. “He’s going to get Derek,” she said.

“You wanna see if we can get another couple of ghosts to move on before they get here?” Lydia asked.

“We don’t have anything better to do,” she said, sighing as she held her pen over the notebook again.

Lydia gave her a brave smile and stepped out into the street again, bending one knee and pointing the other foot forward. Leaping into the air as high as she could go, she let her body go limp, rolling on the ground before leaping into a standing position again with her arms crossed over her chest, forming an “X”.

Writing in the car, Allison didn’t see any of this, but she could feel Lydia working, just as she knew Lydia, could sense what she was doing in the car. They could work for weeks and never release enough spirits to lift the fog. In the back of her mind, she realized somewhat late that if Derek and Stiles managed to find them, they could become trapped as well. She just hoped that the four of them working together could find a way to escape, and secondly, help the poor spirits who were trapped there, too.

* * *

Stiles pulled up to Derek’s apartment and walked up to his door. It was a nice complex: new paint, lots of trees, quiet. He rang the doorbell, waited for a bit, then rang it again. When his patience ran out, he rang the doorbell again and looked at his watch. He would wait for exactly one minute before…

The door swung open. “What!” Derek yelled, voice raised in anger.

Stiles took an involuntary step back. Derek was shirtless, gray sweatpants slung dangerously low on his hips. He was clearly furious, but he was blinking at Stiles with bleary eyes, and he had bed hair. Bed hair!

“Dude!” Stiles exclaimed. “You were asleep? It’s like two o’clock in the afternoon!”

When it became apparent that Derek was about to slam the door in Stiles’ face, Stiles held out his hands in universal gesture for Stop!

“Wait!” he yelled, “I have something really important to tell you!”

Derek froze, squinting his already half-closed eyes at Stiles.

“Allison and Lydia are in trouble.”

His eyes popped open.

“Some ghosts trapped them on the Richmond Bridge,” Stiles said. “They need our help.”

“Give me a minute,” Derek replied gruffly, closing the door.

Five minutes later, he emerged, fully dressed, carrying a canvas and a messenger bag. 

“I’m driving,” he said, brushing past Stiles before he had a chance to respond.

“Fine with me,” Stiles muttered, under his breath.

He followed Derek to a black Camaro and watched as he popped the trunk to put his stuff inside.

“Whoa!” Stiles exclaimed. “Nice car!”

“Get in,” Derek said, curtly, opening the driver side door and getting behind the wheel.

Stiles got in, and they were quickly on the freeway, heading towards the bridge. 

“I obviously can’t bake anything once we get to the bridge,” Stiles said. “But, I made some chocolate chip cookies last night, so I brought them.” 

He unzipped his backpack and held up the Ziploc bag for Derek to see. Derek glanced at it out of the corner of his eye, then moved his focus back to the road.

“You’d be surprised how effective chocolate chip cookies are,” Stiles said. 

Derek grunted, and Stiles let out a heavy breath, resigning himself to silence for the rest of the ride, which thankfully wouldn’t be too much longer. The Richmond Bridge was already in front of them, and although it was a bright and sunny day, the bridge was covered with fog.

“That’s weird,” Stiles commented. “Why’s there fog on the bridge and nowhere else?”

“I’m guessing it has something to do with Allison and Lydia,” Derek replied, sounding annoyed. “Keep your eyes open.”

“What am I looking for?” Stiles asked. 

“Anything weird,” Derek said, as they drove through one of the FasTrak gates and plunged into the fog.

They drove in silence, the swirls of fog whizzing by in the windows. After about ten minutes, Stiles had no choice but to say something.

“Dude, you know it doesn’t take this long to cross the bridge, right?” he asked. “This is like the freaking Twilight Zone.”

“The cars are gone,” Derek said.

“What?” Stiles asked.

“All the other cars,” Derek said. “They’re gone.”

Stiles squinted into the fog ahead of them, then looked into the side mirror. The hairs stood up on the back of his neck. “Like I said, Twilight Zone.”

“Shit!” Derek yelled, quickly swerving to the side.

“Fuck!” said Stiles, whipping his head around. “What happened?”

Derek slammed on the breaks. “Lydia,” he said, unbuckling his seatbelt.

“What about her?” Stiles, asked, unbuckling as well.

Derek opened his door and stepped out of the car. “She was standing in the middle of the road!” he yelled at the red-headed figure that was jogging towards his car.

“Sorry!” Lydia yelled back sarcastically. “We’ve been alone out here for four hours! I wasn’t expecting a car to suddenly appear out of nowhere!”

“Hi, Lydia,” Stiles said, giving her a goofy grin.

“Hi, Stiles,” Lydia replied abruptly, quickly turning her gaze back to Derek. “We need you to do your paint thing,” she said, as Allison ran up the car as well. “This isn’t a regular haunting. There might be a poltergeist here.”

“What makes you say that?” Derek asked, popping open his trunk and pulling out his supplies.

“It’s just a guess,” Allison supplied, brushing some hair out of her face. “Actually, we’re just hoping it’s not something worse.”

“A poltergeist would be bad enough,” Derek said, setting up his easel. “Anything bigger, and we would need Scott. And obviously, he’s not here.”

“Well, see what you can do,” Lydia said. “Stiles, glad you’re here, but I’m gonna get back to dancing. I think there’s another one on the verge of leaving.” 

They watched as she ran off and started dancing in the middle of the street again.

“How many have you gotten to cross over so far?” Derek asked, setting up his paints on top of his car.

“Lydia got three,” she said. “I got two.”

“Wow,” Derek said, sounding impressed. “That must be a record for you two.” He glanced back at Lydia’s graceful form, flowing from one movement to the next like she had been trained to do. “How has she not collapsed from exhaustion yet?”

Allison shrugged. “She’s in really good shape. She dances all day for a living, so I guess this isn’t that different for her.” She rubbed her chin with one hand for a few moments while she watched Lydia dance. “It’s a lot more emotionally draining, though, which you know, of course. I’m sure we’re all gonna be paying for today over the next week or so.” 

Turning her gaze to Stiles, she smiled warmly and touched his arm. “I’m really glad you came. I’m not sure how much you’ll be able to do, though, since you can’t bake here.”

Stiles pulled the cookies out of his backpack and showed them to her. “Made them last night.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Oh! Do you think that’ll work?”

Stiles grimaced and looked up into the fog. “I’m getting the feeling that there are a whole lot of ghosts here. I’d be surprised if I didn’t find at least a couple that chocolate chip cookies work on.”

Allison smiled and jerked her thumb back towards her car. “I’m gonna get back to writing.”

Stiles nodded, and Allison smiled at him again, walking back to her car with her arms crossed. 

Looking out into the fog, Stiles pulled a cookie out of the bag, and put the rest of them into his backpack. He walked slowly, not really sure of how to proceed. This wasn’t the way this normally went down for him. Usually when he encountered a ghost in his life, they hung around for a while, he would get the sudden urge to bake something, and that would be that. It usually took anywhere from a few days to a few months. He had never tried it with something he had baked beforehand, and he didn’t know if intentionality was part of it or not. Worst-case scenario, he thought, it wouldn’t work, and he would have to trust that the others would be able to figure out some kind of solution for their problem.

Suddenly, everything seemed darker and colder. He took a bite of cookie, and for some reason it felt like some had punched him in the stomach. He doubled over coughing, as his eyes watered. It actually didn’t feel so much like a stomach punch as it felt like all of his internal organs suddenly freezing into a solid block of ice. Lifting his head, he saw the ghost of a young boy standing in front of him, maybe six or seven years old. His glowing eyes were tracking the cookie in Stiles’ hand.

Nodding slowly, Stiles brought the cookie up to his lips, bit into it and swallowed. The ghost lingered for a bit, then turned his back toward Stiles and began to walk away, fading from view as he went.

Standing up straight again, he was about to take another step forward when he was suddenly confronted by three more ghosts. They looked like a young family, a mother and father and their daughter, but Stiles had no way of knowing whether they were actually related or not. All of them were staring intently at his cookie. Somehow, like the first ghost, he knew this experience was going to be different from all the other times he had done this.

He took a second to steal his nerves, then bit down on the cookie. All three ghosts instantly vanished, but he was hit by a wave of nausea that threatened to knock him to the ground.

He could sense the spirits swirling around him now, drawn to the void created when their brethren disappeared. Most of them ignored him, but there were hundreds of ghosts, and although he could never have guessed the night before that he would be in this particular situation, he couldn’t have picked a better baked good to bring with him. Everyone loved chocolate chip cookies.

When his stomach settled somewhat, he began to walk again. He held the cookie up to see if it would draw out any more ghosts. He immediately felt a presence next to him. Turning, he saw the ghost of a woman with long hair flowing around her head as if she were underwater. She was reaching for the cookie with her hand. Stiles grimaced and shoved the rest of the cookie into his mouth. The woman closed her fist, closed her eyes, and disappeared. 

Stiles coughed, bits of cookie flying from his mouth. He felt like someone had just doused him with a bucket of ice water. Falling to the ground in a daze, he stared up as ghosts and fog swirled over his head. The feeling of water returned, only this time, it brought with it the sensation of drowning. His vision tunneled as he gave another weak cough, and everything went dark.


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles woke up shivering in a bed, covered in blankets.

“He’s awake!” Scott called out, holding Stiles’ hand. “Here, drink this,” Scott said, holding a tiny cup to Stiles’ mouth.

Stiles took a sip and immediately spit it out, spraying the foul tasting concoction all over Scott’s hand and the blanket.

“What is that?” he asked weakly. “It tastes like you boiled an old tennis ball with a dead rat.”

“It’s medicine,” Scott said, smiling good-humoredly at him. “I know, it tastes terrible, but you need to drink it. Just try to swallow it really fast.”

Allison and Lydia came into the room just he finished drinking it.

“That’s so gross!” he coughed. “I think I’d rather be dead.”

Scott laughed and felt his forehead with the back of his hand.

“How’s he doing?” asked Allison.

“Are you okay, Stiles?” Lydia asked.

“He’ll be fine,” Scott said, standing up. “He just needs to rest.”

“Do you need anything?” Allison asked.

“Actually, I need to pee really bad,” Stiles said, moving to get out of the bed. 

Hit by a wave of pain that was quickly followed by a wave of nausea, he groaned and stopped moving. Scott was instantly by his side.

“Hey, man,” he said, crouching down so that his face was level with Stiles’. “You’ve been out for a while. We had to put some Depends on you, so if you gotta go, then just…go.” He gave Stiles a lopsided smile that Stiles guessed was supposed to be encouraging.

“How long was I out?” Stiles croaked out.

“Two days,” Scott said. 

Stiles realized that all he was wearing was a T-shirt and the adult diaper. He felt his face turning red as he turned towards Allison and Lydia.

“Have you guys been changing…” he closed his eyes and felt like he was about to cry. “I think I might actually die of embarrassment.”

Allison sat down at the foot of the bed. “Don’t worry about it Stiles, we’ve all been there at one point or another. Shepherding takes a lot out of you.”

Lydia sat down by his legs and rubbed one of them through the blanket with her hand. “I was out for a day. I only managed to get four of them to cross over. I’m surprised you’re even awake right now with how many you did.”

“I only did five,” Stiles said weakly.

“That might have been all that you saw, but Derek was connected to the spirit that caused all of this to happen,” Allison said. “He could feel how many spirits were leaving each time you did what you did. We all could, in a way, actually. For each one that you saw, there were maybe a dozen more that you didn’t see. You must have released sixty or seventy spirits that day. I’m surprised you aren’t dead.” 

Stiles shook his head slowly, confused. “How? I don’t understand. I’ve never done anything like that before.”

“I don’t know,” Allison said. “But you did. Derek was able to single out the ghost that was controlling all of the others. It was feeding off of them somehow. When you released all of those spirits, you weakened it, and Derek was able to get it to move on.”

“The fog lifted and suddenly we were all in the middle of traffic,” Lydia added. “Luckily, there wasn’t an accident. We threw you into the back seat of Allison’s car and got away before the cops showed up.”

Stiles noticed the I.V. going into his arm and arched his neck to look at the I.V. stand by the bed. “Where did you get this?” he asked.

“My mom’s a nurse,” Scott said proudly. “She knows about what we do. The first time Allison passed out, she snuck this out of the hospital for us. We keep it here in Derek’s apartment for emergencies, and my mom comes to run the I.V.”

“This is Derek’s apartment?” Stiles asked, his eyes growing wide.

“It’s the guest room,” Lydia said. “Don’t worry, like Allison said, we’ve all taken turns hooked up to an I.V. lying in this bed. Even Derek.”

“Where is he?” asked Stiles.

“He went to get us some food,” Scott said. “He should be back soon.”

Stiles took a deep breath and burrowed back down under the covers. “I think I need to go back to sleep,” he said, softly.

“You do that,” Scott replied, standing up. “Just call us if you need anything.”

Stiles nodded and closed his eyes as they filed out of the room.

When he opened his eyes again, he saw Derek sitting in a chair next to him, reading a book. 

“Hnnnn,” he groaned, slowly turning his head towards Derek.

Looking up, Derek smiled, closed his book, and set it aside.

“You’re awake,” Derek said softly, leaning forward. “How do you feel?”

“Thirsty,” Stiles croaked out.

Grabbing a cup of water from the nightstand, Derek held it to Stiles’ mouth so he could drink.

“Thanks,” Stiles whispered, as Derek pulled the cup away.

Derek nodded and put it back on the nightstand. He smiled more broadly and nodded towards the foot of the bed. “Looks like you’ve picked up a little friend.”

Stiles looked in the direction Derek indicated. There was a ghost there, a little boy, four or five years old.

Stiles looked at the ghost for a few minutes, then sighed. “Vanilla cupcakes,” he said weakly, trying to get up. “He wants vanilla cupcakes.”

Derek got up quickly, placing gentle hands on Stiles’ chest and shoulders. “You need to rest,” he said, slowly pushing Stiles back down. “He’s not going anywhere.”

“It’s incredible, what you did on the bridge,” he continued. “I guess you weren’t kidding about chocolate chip cookies.”

Stiles laughed weakly. “They said you got the ghost that was controlling it all. Was it a poltergeist?”

“No,” Derek answered, smiling and looking down. “It was close, though. Maybe in a few years, it would’ve turned into one. We got to it in time.“

“How does it work?” asked Stiles.

“How does what work?” asked Derek.

“Poltergeist.” Stiles said.

Derek furrowed his brow. “It happens when a ghost stays here too long. As time goes by, they lose their humanity, bit by bit, until all that’s left is the anger and confusion of being stuck here. I’ve only dealt with a few so far. I try to get to them before that happens. I guess that’s what we all do. You guys just get to them extra early, before they’re even close to that stage.”

Stiles noticed the painting propped up on the dresser. It looked like someone just squirted a bunch of paint on the canvas and then smeared it around with their hands.

“Is that the painting you did on the bridge?” he asked.

Derek looked at it and nodded.

“Why does it look like that?” Stiles asked. “Do they always look like that?”

“No,” Derek said, smiling and shaking his head. “The ghost that was controlling the others was basically a three-year-old throwing a temper tantrum. He was killed in an accident about a year ago. With kids that young, either they cross over right away, or they get really stubborn, really angry about their lives being cut so short, even though they don’t really understand it. Sometimes they radiate a lot of energy, too, like the way this one did, drawing in a lot of the ghosts of people who died in or around the bay.”

He paused for a moment, as if searching for the right words to explain what he was thinking.

“The way my gift works is that the ghosts take over my body. They work out their issues on the canvas, a lot of canvases sometimes. Then they go. This one was different though, because he had gathered in all of these other spirits. All of their issues were starting to manifest inside of him. I didn’t know if it was gonna work until I started sensing what you were doing.

“By getting all of those sprits to leave, you disrupted the way the energy was flowing through all of them from one to the other. It severed all of their connections, and the boy was able to find some peace, smearing paint around in circles on the canvas,” Derek finished ruefully, starting at the painting.

They were quiet for a moment before Stiles asked, “What do you do with the paintings?”

“Sell them usually,” Derek said, standing up to look at his latest work. “Though, I doubt anyone would want to buy this one.”

Stiles looked at it again. “Can I have it?” he asked.

Derek looked at him, mirth tugging up at the corners of his mouth. “Seriously? You want it?”

Stiles nodded slowly. “It was a big day for me,” he said smiling. “I want something to remember it by.”

“Sure,” Derek said, shrugging. “You can have it.”

* * *

Scott looked on while his mom pulled gently on the catheter in Stiles’ arm, extracting it as Stiles winced in pain. 

“Hold that there for five minutes,” she said, pressing a cotton ball down on the tiny wound.

“Thanks, Melissa,” Stiles said, holding the cotton ball down. He looked up curiously. “Why did you guys bring me here instead of the hospital?”

“The hospital wouldn’t be able to treat you for this,” Scott said. “You’d eventually get better, maybe, but you’d be completely unbalanced for a long time, maybe forever if you weren’t careful. It’s better if we take care of these things ourselves.”

Melissa nodded. “When Scott was first getting into this, one of you shepherds ended up in the E.R. Erica, I think her name was? It didn’t look like she had sustained any injury, but she never woke up.” Melissa shook her head and sighed. “She died, eventually.”

“So, when it happened to Allison,” Scott began, sitting down next to Stiles, “we brought her here instead, and I made some medicine for her. She got better right away, and we’ve been doing it this way ever since.”

“Is that how you two met?” Stiles asked. “Because of the ghosts?”

Scott smiled and nodded.

Stiles stood up on wobbly feet, and Scott quickly stood to help keep him steady.

“So, I guess I’m free to go, huh?” Stiles said.

“Oh, no,” Scott said, gripping Stiles’ arm. “You’re staying right here until you get better.”

“I feel fine,” Stiles said, tripping over his own feet, forcing Scott to catch him.

“Yeah,” Scott said, sarcastically. “You’re fine. You can’t even stand up straight. You’ve only ever shepherded ghosts one at a time before, and from what you’ve told us, it’s been pretty easy for you. You’ve never done this many before. There are consequences for the work that we do.”

“Consequences?” Stiles asked, taking a step forward as Scott tried to maneuver him into the living room.

Scott grimaced and shrugged. “It’s different for everybody, and it’s different each time. You’re recovering from the physical part okay, but there’s more to it than that. Don’t worry, we’ll keep an eye on you.”

“Okay,” Stiles said as Scott deposited him into a recliner.

Scott set up a T.V. tray in front of him. “Here’s the remote; here’s a glass of water. Just let us know if you need anything.”

“What day is it?” Stiles asked, suddenly remembering that he had homework and classes to worry about.

“It’s Saturday,” Scott said.

Stiles mulled it over for a bit. “Okay, well I’ve only missed one class so far. There’s gonna be a quiz in my Tuesday morning class. I can’t miss it.”

Scott gave him a doubtful look. “We’ll see.”

Tuesday morning found Stiles throwing up in the toilet while Derek rubbed his back.

“It’s okay,” Derek said. “Just let it out.”

Stiles had no idea why he was crying. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he sobbed. “I can’t stop. I feel like I’m going crazy.” 

He stopped talking as his stomach lurched and he spit up what had to be the last of what was in there. It was probably the chicken soup that Allison had fed to him the night before in order to combat the sudden flu-like symptoms that he had developed earlier in the day. The day prior, Lydia had taken him for a walk in the park and he suddenly became so paranoid that he was jumping at shadows and had to be slowly coaxed back to Derek’s apartment and sedated. Through it all, Scott kept giving him different foul tasting, nasty smelling, murky looking things to drink, and while he assured Stiles that he was indeed getting better, all Stiles wanted to do was curl up into a little ball and cry.

He started shivering.

“Are you cold?” asked Derek.

Nodding vigorously, he lunged at the knob for the shower and got the water running. Then he tried to crawl into the bathtub, even though he was fully clothed.

“I guess I’ll give you some privacy,” Derek said, standing up.

Stiles whipped around and said through chattering teeth, “Don’t go.”

Derek’s face softened, and Stiles turned back around. Derek helped him into the tub, then got in as well. He sat down and pulled Stiles into the V of his legs, holding him close as the hot water fell and washed Stiles’ tears away. Their clothes were soon soaked through, and Derek thought that it was lucky neither of them had been wearing shoes.

Scott found them in the shower a half hour later and made something to put Stiles to sleep.

It was Thursday before Stiles felt like he was ready to resume his normal life again. Scott had gone back to the bridge to check on the situation there, and he let them know that most of the ghosts had already dispersed around the bay, now that there was no longer an angry toddler keeping them anchored there. He said it probably wouldn’t take much to clear the bridge now, but that they should all take a break from shepherding for a while. 

The little ghost was still following Stiles, but never left the apartment when Stiles did. He seemed content to be with whoever happened to be around. Stiles decided he would take care of him in a week or so when he was feeling better.

He shoved his clothes into the duffel bag that Lydia had brought over for him from his own apartment. She had also brought over a few changes of clothes and his homework, which she had also helped him with. Lydia was crazy smart and understood all of his homework right away, even for classes that she had no experience with. It kind of made him fall in love with her a little more, even as he was beginning to figure out that there would never be anything there for him. He sighed and finished up with his packing.

“Thanks for taking care of me this week,” he said to Derek, who was sitting at his dining room table, apparently taking care of some bills.

“You’re leaving already?” Derek said. “You should stay for dinner. Everyone’s coming over tonight. I was gonna order pizza.”

“Yeah, I have to go,” Stiles said, scratching the back of his head. “I have a class this afternoon, and I already missed a lot being here this week. I don’t want to fall behind even more.”

Derek stood up and walked over to where Stiles was standing by the door. “You’re a really good shepherd,” he said. “I’m really glad you were on the bridge with us that day. We might not have made it without you.”

Stiles blushed. “I’m sure you guys would have figured out…”

“I’m serious,” Derek said, squeezing Stiles’ shoulder. “We really might have died out there if it wasn’t for you. Thank you.”

Stiles pressed his lips together and dipped his head. “You’re welcome.”

“So, you’ll come back tonight?” Derek asked.

“I’ll come back tonight,” Stiles answered.

Derek broke out into a wide grin, which Stiles knew from even his short time there was a rare thing. Before he could say something lame like, _you should smile more_ , he dipped his head again, said goodbye, and beat a hasty retreat.

* * *

Stiles knocked on the door, which was promptly opened by Scott.

“Stiles!” Scott exclaimed. “Stiles is here!” he yelled back into the apartment.

Scott stepped forward, wrapping Stiles up in a big hug and pounding him firmly on the back.

“How are you feeling?” Scott asked, his eyebrows becoming very concerned as he held Stiles at arm’s length.

“Okay,” Stiles said, nodding in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. “Still a little loopy, but okay.”

“Are you two just gonna stand in the doorway all night?” Lydia asked, her head popping out from behind Scott.

Scott grinned and pulled Stiles inside. Without warning, he was presented with a plate of pizza from Allison as Derek pressed a cold beer into his hand, and was herded into the living room and plopped down onto the sofa, with Scott and Allison on either side.

“Uh, thanks,” Stiles said softly, feeling a little overwhelmed.

He had spent most of his life pretty much by himself. Even before his mom died, he was an odd child, eccentric, his parents liked to say. The fact that he never really had any friends had never bothered him before. He had lots of acquaintances, people he was friendly with, and to be honest, the inside of his head was pretty interesting most of the time, but he had never really been close to anyone, other than his dad. Especially after his mom died, and he started seeing ghosts everywhere. The ghosts were more than enough company, and most of the time he felt like he just couldn’t relate to other people.

He took a bite of pizza and looked up. Derek was smiling softly at him, and all Stiles could hear was a whooshing sound that drowned out Scott and Allison’s yammering on about the movie that was playing on the screen. He blushed and looked down again, quickly taking a swig of his beer.

When he looked back up, Derek was looking at the TV, but with the ghost of a smile playing about his lips. 

When the movie was over, they all moved into the kitchen for dessert. Derek pulled a tub of vanilla ice cream from the fridge, while everyone else got bowls, whipped cream and other toppings, and set them on the counter. Stiles noticed the ghost of the small boy walk into the room while they were putting their sundaes together. No one reacted to him, but Stiles knew they could all see him. 

The ghost had become a fixture at Derek’s apartment ever since the incident at the bridge. He wasn’t the type of ghost that Scott usually dealt with, and the rest of them were still trying to recover, so no one had tried to shepherd him. Stiles stared at the little boy for a while, and the familiar feelings started to come over him. Loss. Emptiness. Confusion. Longing. Vanilla.

“Derek,” Stiles said, leaning on the counter with his chin resting in his hand, “do you have any vanilla?”

Everyone grew quiet and turned to see Stiles staring at the ghost.

“No, I don’t,” Derek said carefully, moving to stand next to Stiles. “But, I can pick some up tomorrow.”

Stiles tilted his head to smile up at him.

“Do you need anything else?” Derek asked.

“Flour, oil, eggs,” Stiles said. “You know, normal baking things.”

“I don’t really bake,” Derek said.

Stiles shrugged and went back to staring at the ghost. “That’s okay. I can’t just bake the cupcakes and then bring them here.”

“I’d like to watch you do it,” Derek said. “If I get everything you need, could you do it here?”

“I don’t know if it’ll look any different from normal baking,” Stiles said, “but yeah, I can do it here.”

“Make a list,” Derek said, handing him a pencil and a stack of Post-Its. “I’ll make sure to get everything tomorrow morning.”

“Okay,” Stiles said, standing up straight. His fingertips brushed against Derek’s hand as he took the pencil from him, sending a delicious tingle down his spine.

Derek quickly stepped back and busied himself putting the ice cream and toppings away.  
* * *

Stiles showed up at Derek’s not long after he received at text saying that Derek had picked up everything he needed. Derek was the only one there, and was being unusually attentive to what Stiles was doing, helping to measure out ingredients, and stirring what Stiles told him to stir.

“So, how does it work?” Derek asked, as he beat the sugar into the eggs. “How do you know what to make?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles said, shrugging as he sifted the dry ingredients together. “After I spend enough time with them, I start to get this urge to bake something. I’ve done it so many times now that I can tell when the urge is being generated by something in the ghost’s past, and isn’t just something I feel like baking.”

“Have you ever baked the wrong thing?” Derek asked.

“Sure,” Stiles said, nodding. “It happened a couple of times in the beginning. But, not really anymore.”

“And, you do this every couple of months?” Derek asked, lifting the mixer out of the bowl. “So, like, six ghosts a year?”

“Six to eight, yeah,” Stiles said. “You can add the oil, milk and vanilla now,” Stiles added, standing next to Derek to make sure he measured everything right.

“So, just mix it now?” Derek asked.

“Yup,” Stiles said. He went to preheat the oven, then started lining the cupcake tin with paper baking cups. “So, what’s with the sudden urge to learn how to bake?”

Derek shrugged and smiled shyly. “I like to see how other shepherds work,” he said. “You _are_ the first person we’ve ever heard of who bakes.”

Stiles blushed and looked away, wiping his hands on a towel. “So I’ve heard.” 

He looked into the bowl that Derek was mixing and placed his hand on Derek’s. “That’s good. Now we portion it out into the cups and bake,” Stiles said. He worked in awkward silence as Derek watched him pouring the batter into the cupcake tin. 

After he put the tray in the oven, he asked, “Can you set the timer for twenty-five minutes?”

Derek set the timer. “Now what?” he asked.

Stiles smiled. “Now, we clean up.”

Derek nodded and began carrying dishes to the sink. They both grabbed for the spatula at the same time. Derek wrapped his fingers gently around Stiles’ wrist. Stiles’ breath caught in his throat and he looked up, meeting Derek’s eyes. Derek stepped closer to him, placing his hands on Stiles’ hips. Stiles swallowed as he was slowly backed into the counter and Derek’s eyes flicked down to his lips. He leaned forward, and Stiles’ hand rose to grasp the back of Derek’s head. 

The kiss was chaste, dry, over before it began, but it sent a thrill through Stiles like he had never felt before. He pulled Derek close again, their lips meeting and parting, their tongues languidly caressing past each other.

They pulled apart, foreheads touching and chests heaving.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that,” Stiles said, looking into Derek’s eyes.

Derek grabbed his hand and kissed his palm. “Yeah?” he asked.

Stiles nodded and smiled. “I was worried you thought I was annoying.”

“I did,” Derek replied, with a smirk.

Stiles gave him a playful shove, but Derek caught his hand and pulled him in for another kiss. The next thing they knew, the timer was going off, and Stiles quickly pulled away and opened the oven door. He inserted a toothpick to check for doneness, then took the tin out of the oven to cool on the counter.

“Looks like your little friend knows the cupcakes are almost done,” Derek said, as the ghost walked into the kitchen.

Stiles spun around to look. “Don’t worry buddy,” he said to the little ghost. He still didn’t know if they could hear or understand what people said. “We’re almost there.” He looked at Derek as he pulled the oven mitts off. “We still need to wash the dishes so we can make the frosting.”

Derek smiled and turned to face the sink, squirting dishwashing liquid onto a sponge and squeezing it a few times. Stiles stood next to him, rinsing and racking as Derek passed the soapy dishes to him.

They made the frosting in silence as the ghost watched. Stiles swatted Derek’s hand away when he tried to dip a finger into the frosting, but later gave him one of the beaters to lick. Stiles used the mini metal spatula he had brought with him to frost the cupcakes, and Derek added some rainbow sprinkles, even though Stiles had told him it wasn’t necessary. 

When they were done, Derek grabbed a cupcake, peeled the paper off, and bit into it. They both turned to where the ghost was standing, but neither was really surprised to see him still standing there, staring at the cupcake in Stiles’ hand. 

Stiles ran his finger along the edge of the cupcake, gathering up a good amount of the frosting on his fingertip. He stuck his finger in his mouth and closed his eyes, tasting as the butter dissolved, giving way to bright sugar and mysterious vanilla.

He sighed.

Opening his eyes again, he carefully looked around the room. The ghost was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

“Have you ever seen a poltergeist before?” Derek asked, lifting a canvas and collapsible easel out of the trunk of his car.

“No,” Stiles answered, taking the items from him. “Do they look different from regular ghosts?”

“Depends on how long the ghost’s been a poltergeist,” Derek said. “They start to color shift to red, a little purple at first, then maroon, then red. I heard a rumor once that a poltergeist had been around so long, it was turning orange.”

“How long would it take for that to happen?” Stiles asked. 

Derek shrugged. “Half a century, maybe? I don’t know.”

“You know how deal with them, right?” Stiles asked, following Derek into the old apartment building. “Poltergeists?”

“I’ve dealt with a few,” Derek said, looking up at the cracks in the plaster. He ran his finger across the map of the building, taking note of apartment 301. “I try to get to them before they get that far, but we’re not always that lucky. I’ll see how far I get with it, but we’re probably gonna need Scott later.”

“Really?” asked Stiles looking up the dark stairway uncertainly before proceeding. “Why?”

“Scott’s good at balancing out energy,” Derek explained. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and turned on the flashlight app. “It’s how his gift works. The rest of us help the ghosts to process through whatever’s keeping them here. Allison’s good with sadness. Lydia: loss. I do anger. Scott’s different. Even if a person didn’t die from an illness, if they’ve been around long enough to turn into a poltergeist, then they’re gonna be unbalanced.

“We’re not really sure how your gift works, only that it seems to takes a lot less out of you to do it.” He stopped in front of apartment 301 and pulled a key out of his pocket. “We’re here.”

“Where’d you get the key?” Stiles asked.

“The people who live here,” Derek answered, unlocking the door and opening it. “They didn’t want to be here for this.”

Stiles’ jaw dropped. “I can see why,” he said slowly, taking in the otherworldly quality of the apartment.

It was cold, cold enough for their breath to come out in white puffs. Various small items were floating around, as if the room was canceling out the Earth’s gravity. Derek stepped boldly inside, forcing Stiles to either follow or be left behind.

“Derek,” Stiles began, his teeth starting to chatter. “What is this?”

“This is a full blown poltergeist,” he said, setting his bag on the table and taking the easel from Stiles. “I always forget to bring a scarf to these things,” he said, muttering under his breath. He set up the easel. “I wanted you to come with me so you could see what happens when we don’t get to the ghosts in time.” He turned to face Stiles, looking very serious. “The work we do is important. Not only for the people who are still alive, but for the ghosts, too. Look at this,” he said, gesturing at the floating objects around the room. “This is a spirit that has lost all connection to their humanity. They're not only a danger to the living. They're suffering. We have to help them.”

Stiles nodded and handed the canvas to Derek. “So, what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to sit at the table and watch,” Derek said, pointing. “I don’t want you to think that I don’t value what you do, because you’re amazing, really. But, what you do is kind of easy, in a way. Once you figure out what to bake, you bake it, eat it, and it’s done. For whatever reason, the way your gift works, you get to wait until you know exactly what you have to do before you really have to start working. The rest of us don’t have that luxury. We have to figure it out as we go, and it takes a lot out of us. You had a close call the other day, but that was because of the insane number of spirits you released. For the rest of us, we can have a close call because of only one. Especially if it’s a poltergeist.”

All of a sudden, the temperature dropped, and everything that was floating fell to the floor with a loud crash.

Derek squirted a few different colors of paint onto his palette. “Whatever happens, stay away from me while I’m working.” He looked up at Stiles and then picked up a brush. “I’ve never hurt anyone before, but I don’t usually have anyone watching, either.”

Stiles hugged himself, trying to keep warm, and sat down in the chair. He felt the ghost before he saw him, a ragged purple shape, mostly like a ghost, but with the torn clothing and wild hair you would expect to see on a ghost in the movies. He didn’t have any legs; he just floated there behind Derek, with what looked like scraps of cloth swaying back and forth, like seaweed, where his legs should have been. The ghost stared at Derek’s back with a vacant expression on his strangely mangled face.

Derek slowly turned to face the ghost, looking him directly in the eyes. He was obviously trying to stay calm, but Stiles could see the tension in his shoulders. Suddenly, the ghost was gone, but Derek’s eyes were glowing now, purple, the same way that the poltergeist’s eyes had glowed. Derek turned to face the canvas, his face contorting with rage. Swiping through the palette with the brush, he picked up orange and red, and began slashing at the canvas with long angry strokes, vivid red lines manifesting like the cuts of a knife on pale flesh. 

Stiles was shocked by the intensity of it. He could feel the waves of anger pulsing through the room and it was everything he could do to not run away. Derek had picked up some black now, and was angrily stabbing dots onto the canvas. Stiles didn’t know much about painting, but he was pretty sure the brush was done for. After about twenty minutes of stabbing, the canvas was almost completely black, though Derek had largely avoided painting over the red lines. 

The brush clattered to the floor, and Derek just stood there, chest heaving, staring at the canvas for a good ten, fifteen, minutes before he started to move again. He stepped towards the canvas, cautiously almost, dipping his fingers into blue, green and white. He smeared the paint onto the canvas, careful now, his face taking on an expression of wonder. Though the paints were smearing together, shapes started to emerge. It was as if the canvas was starting to warp and bubble, even though Stiles knew that was just the effects of the shading. 

He grimaced as Derek wiped his hands on his shirt and pants, leaving dark smudges that he was pretty sure weren’t going to wash out. This wasn’t the first time Derek had done this, though, so he must have assumed that this was a possibility, and planned accordingly.

Derek picked up a tiny brush now, but instead of using the brush end, he pressed the handle into the paint. He appeared to be writing, scraping through the paint to the white canvas underneath, his face mere inches from the surface. Unable to see what he was doing, Stiles got up from his chair, not even fully realizing what he was doing. After taking a few steps, though, Derek stopped and turned to face Stiles, his eyes still radiating the strange purple glow. His head cocked slowly to the side, and his eyebrows drew together, a strange mix of hostility and curiosity, and Stiles froze. Derek narrowed his eyes, a clear warning, and for the first time in that apartment, Stiles felt real fear for his safety. He slowly took a step back, then another when it became clear that Derek wasn’t going to attack him. He sat down again, and after about a minute of staring, Derek turned back towards the canvas, scratching little designs into the paint.

The next thing Stiles knew, he was being woken up by the sound of the door creaking behind him. He turned his head and saw a tall blonde woman standing in the doorway. Whipping his head back around, he saw that Derek was still scratching things into the paint, his face up close to the canvas.

“Oh, Derek,” the woman said, shaking her head. “What have you gotten yourself into, now?”

Stiles turned to look back at her and saw that she was not alone. There was another woman with her, shorter, with dark brown hair, and three men. Two of them were twins, tall, with short, spikey, light brown hair. The third had dark, curly hair and was holding some kind of electronic device in his hands. Stiles stood up, drawing their attention.

The blonde woman gave him a once over. “Who the hell are you?”

Jerking his head back in annoyance, Stiles replied, “Who the hell are _you_?”

Ignoring him, the woman turned her head back to Derek. “Ethan, Aiden, tell me what’s going on in here.”

The twins stepped forward, standing in front of the woman and facing Derek. They grasped each other's hands and seemed to go into some kind of trance.

“He’s possessed,” one of the twins said. 

“Poltergeist,” said the other.

The woman shook her head in disappointment, taking a few steps closer to Derek. Derek stopped what he was doing and slowly turned towards her, his hands dropping to his sides.

“Are you in there, Derek?” the woman said. “It’s me, Kate.” She grimaced and considered him for a moment. Shaking her head again, she continued, “I always knew you were going to get yourself into trouble one day. Looks like we’re gonna have to exorcise you.”

“What?!” Stiles exclaimed. “No!”

“Matt,” Kate said.

The man with the electronic device in his hand whipped out a gun and pointed it at Stiles. “Sit down.”

Stiles swallowed and did as he was told. Derek’s eyes darted towards him, but then went back to Kate. She was holding a small bottle in her hands. Uncorking the top, she flung the contents at Derek, who screamed and threw up his hands.

The other woman began chanting, it sounded like Latin, though Stiles wasn’t entirely sure what Latin sounded like. Derek dropped to the floor and began writhing and grunting as if he were in pain.

“This is for your own good, Derek,” Kate said, flinging more of what must have been holy water at him. “You never should have left us.” She turned to the other woman. “Come on, Jennifer. Let’s finish this.”

Jennifer stepped closer, her voice rising as Derek started to scream. The twins were chanting with her now, while Matt was recording the exorcism with a small handheld video camera. Suddenly, Derek arched his back, and there was a flash of light, though Stiles and the twins were the only ones who reacted to it. The room filled with a ghostly echoing scream that slowly faded away as the temperature rose to what it should have been.

Derek was still on the floor, breathing hard and sweaty, but seemingly himself now. He was glaring up at Kate.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he grunted out, as he struggled to rise. Without even thinking about it, Stiles was at his side, helping him to stand up.

“Saving your ass!” Kate said, exasperated. “You were possessed! We exorcised it for you. You’re welcome.”

“I had it under control,” Derek said.

Kate crossed her arms. “Right. You were totally under control, possessed by a poltergeist. Look at that crazy shit you were drawing over there!” she said, gesturing at the painting.

Stiles and Derek both turned to look at it. The mostly black canvas was shot through with red, with little designs scratched into the paint. Upon closer inspection, Stiles saw that they were tiny figures, committing horrible acts of violence upon one another, an orgy of chaos and blood. Aesthetically, the whole piece was eerily beautiful, in a way, even though it made Stiles’ stomach turn.

Derek turned back to Kate. “You’ll never understand.”

“Understand what?” Kate asked. “There’s a world full of ghosts out there, Derek, and worse! You should be with us, helping us to clean up this city. Instead, you and Allison are wasting your time, taking days to get rid of a single ghost when you could take care of them in minutes!”

“Stiles, let’s go,” Derek said, moving towards the door. 

“What about your stuff?” Stiles asked, doing his best to hold Derek upright.

“Leave it,” Derek said, grunting.

The others watched as they left the apartment, but followed at a distance once they were outside.

“This isn’t over, Derek!” Kate called out. “You, me, and Allison, we’re gonna have a little chat!”

Stiles looked at Derek, but Derek just shook his head so that Stiles wouldn’t ask any questions.

“Front pocket,” Derek said weakly, once they got to his car. “Keys. Lucky Herb Company.”

Stiles fished out Derek’s keys, opened the passenger side door, and maneuvered Derek into the seat. His eyelids were dropping as Stiles got into the driver’s seat.

“Scott,” Derek said, before his eyes closed all the way.

Stiles set his mouth into a firm line, and started the car. He saw the others following in the rearview mirror, but assuming they knew where they were going, he didn’t try to lose them. Not that could necessarily lose them if he tried.

He parked in front of Lucky Herb Co., and gently woke Derek up. After helping him out of the car, Stiles got his shoulder under Derek’s arm, taking some of his weight so that they could get to the door.

“What happened?” Scott said, rushing towards them when he saw them coming.

Stiles looked over his shoulder as Kate and her crew began emerging from their cars. “Some other people showed up and exorcised Derek,” he said. “I think the blonde one is in charge. Her name’s Kate.”

“Kate?” Scott repeated, looking through the window at the woman with an angry expression on his face.

He helped Stiles get Derek inside, then yelled, “Allison!”

Allison appeared through the bead curtain. “Oh my God!” she said, rushing to wards them as they got Derek onto the couch.

“Your aunt’s here,” Scott said, as the front door opened and Kate appeared.

“What did you do to him?” Allison spat at her, angrily.

“I saved him!” Kate retorted, the rest of her posse filing into the small store.

“God, this place stinks!” Matt said, wrinkling his nose.

Allison glanced down at Derek, who was once again asleep. “Great job!” she said sarcastically. “You almost killed him!”

“What did you expect me to do?” Kate replied. “Leave him there with a poltergeist inside of him? These aren’t puppy dogs and kittens, Allison! They’re one step away from being demons, and they’re dangerous! You and Derek can keep pretending all you want, but that’s the truth. One day, the two of you are gonna get in over your heads, and I won’t be there to save you!”

Allison stepped closer. “We never asked you to save us.”

After checking Derek’s pulse and looking at his tongue, Scott rushed to the back room.

“Is that Scott?” Kate asked, nodding towards Scott’s retreating form. “He’s like you and Derek, right? He can see ghosts?”

Allison narrowed her eyes, but otherwise gave no indication she had heard Kate’s question.

“What about this one?” Kate asked, tilting her head towards Stiles?

When it became clear that Allison was not going to answer, Kate turned towards him. “What’s your name, kid?”

Stiles glanced at Allison, but she was looking at the ground, her arms crossed in front of her protectively. He swallowed.

“Stiles,” he said. “My name is Stiles.”

“Stiles,” Kate said, nodding slowly. “Can you see ghosts, too?”

“Yes,” he answered carefully.

Kate turned towards Allison. “Four seers,” she said, almost accusingly. “I just have the two,” she continued, jerking her thumb at the twins, “and they only see when they’re working together. Tell me, Allison, does that really seem fair to you? We put our asses on the line every day, using what little resources we have, to protect the people in this city from ghosts, and poltergeists, and demons, while the four of you sit around, painting, and selling herbs, and writing poetry? You need to learn how to share.”

“I’m not having this argument with you again, Kate,” Allison said, glaring. “Not here, not now, and especially not with Derek lying there on the verge of death because of what you did to him! You need to leave.”

“Fine,” Kate said, gesturing for the rest of her group to go. “You keep playing nice with these spirits, don’t come crying to me when one of them bites you in the ass.”

Scott reappeared just as she was leaving, and he began gathering herbs together. “Allison, can you help me? It’s gonna be a long night.”

Stiles watched as Allison and Scott chopped dried mushrooms, piled roots, twigs, wood shavings, leaves and berries into bowls, even smashed up part of a dried lizard with a mortar and pestle.

He pulled a chair over to the couch so he could sit next to Derek. Holding Derek’s hand, he gently rubbed the top of it with his thumb. A few hours later, there was a foul smell, even more pungent than the normal smell that was always present in the shop, wafting in from the back room.

Scott walked over and stood next to him. “How’s he doing?” he asked Stiles.

Stiles looked up at him and answered, “Same, I think. He hasn’t really moved or anything since you left. What are you making for him?”

“Pretty much the same stuff I made for you,” Scott said. “Don’t worry, he’ll be okay. People recover from exorcisms all the time without medicinal help, although this isn’t really the same thing since he wasn’t really possessed. It’s worse, actually, but he’ll be okay. He’ll be okay.” Scott didn’t look like he completely believed what he was saying.

Allison walked in with a steaming cup of the murky black liquid. Stiles eyed it warily as she set it down on the end table.

“Should we try to get him to drink it?” Stiles asked.

“No,” Scott said, keeping his eyes on Derek. “He can just breathe in the vapors for now. When he wakes up, we can make him drink some.”

“What was all that stuff that Kate was saying?” Stiles asked Allison. “What were you arguing about?”

Allison shook her head and took a deep breath. “We have a fundamental difference of beliefs, when it comes to spirits,” she said, crossing her arms. “I come from a family of exorcists. I was raised speaking Latin _and_ English. My parents taught me how to make incense, holy water, all of that. I did my first exorcism when I was twelve years old. But, I was different. At first, my parents were excited, because I could see the ghosts. They started making me exorcise them all, every single one we came across. Hardly a day went by when I wasn’t getting rid of some ghost or another.”

She closed her eyes and took another deep breath. Scott put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently.

“But, it started getting to me, you know?” she continued, her eyes glistening. “They couldn’t see what I saw. They couldn’t feel it. At first, I just did it to make them happy, so that they would be proud of me. But, I could see how much pain the ghosts were in when we did it. It started to hurt me almost as much as it hurt them. 

“Then one day, Kate took me to this burned down house. There was a boy there, a few years older than me. He was just standing there, surrounded by all of these ghosts, so Kate started the exorcism, and I helped. The boy turned around, confused about what we were doing, but he could see the ghosts too, and when he saw how much pain they were in, he tried to stop us. But, some of the people who were with us held him down while we finished the exorcism. He screamed at us to stop, and I wanted to. I don’t know why I didn’t. When the ghosts disappeared, finally, he cried.”

Allison squeezed her eyes shut, as if the memory caused her pain. When she opened them again, she looked directly at Stiles. “They were his family,” she said. “He was the only one who survived the fire, and he would go to the house to visit them. And, we took them away.” She wiped at the tears creeping down her cheeks.

After a quiet moment, Stiles asked, “What happened to the boy?”

Allison tilted her head towards Derek.

“Derek?” Stiles asked in surprise.

Nodding sadly, Allison said, “Derek was the boy. He didn’t have any other family, so my parents adopted him; I have no idea how. They convinced him somehow that exorcising ghosts was actually helping them. But, he felt the same way that I did, and we became friends. After he forgave me. We basically grew up together, like brother and sister. Both of us involved in the family business, even though we hated it.

“One day, we were going after a poltergeist, just the two of us, but someone else was already there. That was the day that I met Scott. He was there with Deaton, who was teaching him a different way to get ghosts to cross over to the other side, what we call shepherding. He took me and Derek under his wing, and neither of us has exorcised a ghost ever since.”

“Wow,” Stiles said, trying to take it all in. “Wait a minute. Who’s Deaton?”

“Alan Deaton,” Scott said. “He’s a druid. He’s the one who started the whole shepherding movement. We’re the Berkeley group; there’s another group in San Francisco. He’s been talking about starting another group in Oakland. We’ve only been doing this for about five years. Lydia just joined us last year. We told Deaton about you. You’ll meet him eventually.”

Stiles thought about what they said for a moment before speaking. “Look, I’m as sympathetic to the ghosts as the next guy, but doesn’t Kate kind of have a point? If there are all of these ghosts hanging around just waiting to turn into poltergeists, shouldn’t we be trying to get rid of them as soon as possible? I mean, there were what, almost 500 ghosts at the bridge that day? And, that’s just here in the Bay. How many ghosts are out there? All over the world?”

Allison sat down next to Derek’s legs and faced Stiles. “Actually, Deaton has a theory about that. He and some of the other druids that he works with think the reason there might be so many ghosts around is because of all of the exorcisms that people have done. Doing an exorcism basically rips a hole between the physical world and the spirit one, and then violently forces the spirit through to the other side. When the hole closes, it kind of leaves a scar, making it more difficult for other spirits to cross over.“

“Think about it,” Scott said, crouching down. “People have been performing exorcisms for thousands of years. That’s a lot of scar tissue that’s built up between our worlds. It’s no wonder there’s so many ghosts all over the place. 

“The way _we_ do it, we try to get the spirits to cross over on their own. We try to figure out what their hang-ups are, why they won’t leave, and then help them resolve their issues. Deaton thinks that every spirit we help to cross over like this heals the damage to the barrier a little. So, even though our way takes longer, hopefully in the long run, it means less spirits getting stuck on our side.”

Derek groaned softly, his eyelids fluttering. Stiles grabbed onto his hand and placed his other palm against Derek’s cheek.

“Hey, man,” Stiles said. “How do you feel?”

“Like someone beat me up with a baseball bat,” he said weakly. He took a slow breath. “God, that stuff smells so bad.”

Stiles laughed softly, pressing his forehead against Derek’s. “You scared me,” Stiles whispered.

“Sorry,” Derek whispered back.

* * *

Stiles spent the next few days at Derek’s, helping him to recover, which required equal parts babying him and forcing him to stay in bed. He figured it was his job, since he was his boyfriend. Well, maybe not boyfriend, but definitely something.

Since Derek wasn’t comatose like Stiles had been, Scott said they didn’t need to hook him up to the I.V. But, he had given Stiles a very large bag of herbs, along with instructions on how to brew them and how often Derek was supposed to take them.

It turned out Derek wasn’t that great of a patient. Stiles had to promise to kiss him after each dose, which Derek happily agreed to, if only because it meant that Stiles had to also taste whatever nasty medicine Derek had just drank.

“You know, you’re starting to make me associate kissing you with things that taste really bad,” Stiles said, as Derek drained another cup of medicinal tea.

Ignoring what Stiles said, Derek set the cup on the nightstand, and held out his hands, like a toddler wanting to be picked up. Stiles smiled and sighed, bending down over Derek and kissing him. True, Derek’s mouth tasted like death itself after he drank the medicine, but after a while, the taste went away, and kissing Derek was more than worth it. Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles, and pulled him into the bed with him. Stiles laughed and snuggled up to Derek’s warm body. He pressed a kiss to Derek’s cheek.

Derek turned his head to face him. “How long are you gonna make me stay here?”

Stiles poked him in the side, making him jerk away. “Until Scott says it’s okay for you to leave.”

Derek grabbed Stiles waist and maneuvered him until he was straddling Derek’s hips.

“What do I have to do to convince you I’m ready to start doing stuff, again?” he asked, rolling his hips up to grind against Stiles’ crotch.

Stiles gave a scandalized gasp, but wiggled his ass against Derek. “What exactly are you suggesting, Mr. Hale?” he asked, interlacing their fingers together, lifting Derek’s arms and holding them up against the headboard.

Derek smiled up at him, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oh, I think you know.”

“Yeah?” Stiles asked, leaning down to kiss him. “Maybe I’m not that smart.”

Derek bit his bottom lip and rolled his hips again, pressing his thickening shaft against Stiles’ thigh. “Do you know now?”

Stiles released Derek’s hands, then reached down between his legs to caress Derek through the thin flannel of his pajama bottoms. “Is this for me?” he asked innocently, his cheeks coloring.

Derek pulled his shirt off. “You can have any part of me you want.”

Stiles knew it was a cheesy line, but he didn’t care. He surged forward, capturing Derek’s lips with his mouth, pressing the length of his body along Derek like he was freezing to death and Derek was the only thing that would keep him warm. Grinding down his hips, he made sure Derek knew how much he wanted.

Derek tugged up on Stiles’ shirt, pulling it up over his head and flinging it across the room. He ran his hands over Stiles’ body, up and down his sides, feeling the patch of hair at the center of his chest with the back of fingers, rubbing a swollen pink nipple with the pad of his thumb. Stiles did the same to Derek, exploring the firm ripples of muscle, feeling the push and pull of them as Derek moved. He leaned down to suck on Derek’s neck, slowly working his way up the side to nibble on an earlobe, startling a little when he felt Derek squeezing him through his pants.

“I think these need to come off,” Derek whispered in his ear, already unbuttoning Stiles’ fly.

Stiles jumped off the bed, yanked his pants and underwear off, then slid his fingers underneath Derek’s waistband. He pulled slowly, Derek’s fat cock slapping up against his stomach when it was finally free. Stiles climbed back on top of him, relishing the feel of Derek’s ridged length rubbing up against his throbbing cock as he devoured Derek’s mouth.

Grinding his hips down, Stiles bit Derek’s bottom lip playfully. “Do you have any lube?” he asked, breathless.

Nodding eagerly, Derek reached into his nightstand and handed Stiles a small bottle. Stiles squeezed a generous amount into the palm of his hand, then slicked both of them up, Derek gasping. Grabbing both of them in his fist, Stiles began trusting, the hot length of his cock sliding back and forth against Derek’s. 

Derek looked up, his eyes blown, so overcome by what Stiles was doing to him he could barely move. Every time Stiles thrust, it sent a shiver of ecstasy down his cock and into the pit of his stomach. He reached up, pulling Stiles head down and kissed him. 

Thrusting faster, Stiles sucked on Derek’s tongue. Derek’s mouth was amazing, and he never wanted to kiss anyone else, ever again. He could feel the white hot spark at his slit becoming more intense, as if he were rubbing their dicks together to start a fire. He could tell by Derek’s heaving chest that he was close, too.

Derek knew it was going to happen a second before it actually did. Stiles was fucking into his fist like a jackrabbit, when all of a sudden his mouth went still. One thrust, two, then Stiles was shuddering on top of him, his cock jumping as ropes of hot, white cum shot out of him onto Derek’s stomach. Then it was Derek’s turn, the orgasm that had been building spilling over like a breaking dam as he added to Stiles’ mess. His brain fizzled out. All he knew in that moment was the sensation of pleasure, of warmth and closeness and release.

Gasping as he slowly came down from the most mind-numbingly amazing orgasm he had ever experienced, he felt Stiles’ weight settle on top of him, their cum sticky and cooling between them. He felt Stiles wrap his arms around his torso before he went limp with his head tucked in against the side of Derek’s face.

“Are you asleep?” Derek whispered.

“No,” Stiles mumbled. Derek could feel him smirking against his ear.

“Good, because I like you, but I don’t know if I want to actually be glued to you with our own jizz,” Derek said.

“Ew!” Stiles exclaimed, pushing his torso up with arms and smacking Derek’s shoulder. 

Derek laughed and flinched away playfully.

“You are so gross,” Stiles said, settling down against Derek again, relishing in the squishing noise that their cum covered stomachs made when they were pressed up against each other.

Derek turned his head and kissed Stiles’ temple.

“I guess I should tell Scott you’re feeling well enough to leave the apartment, now,” Stiles said, with what Derek could swear was a tinge of sadness in his voice.

“Yeah, I think I’m feeling pretty good, now,” he said, sitting up suddenly. Stiles yelped as Derek manhandled him like a baby, swung his legs over the side of the bed, stood up, and started carrying Stiles out the bedroom door.

“Okay, I get it,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes. “You are a big strong man and you feel fine. Can you put me down, please?”

“Nope,” Derek said, smirking.

Stiles sighed, but smiled as Derek opened the door to the bathroom. Derek set Stiles on his feet and then turned on the water in the shower. As the bathroom filled with steam, they looked into each other’s eyes, and kissed.


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles stared out the window silently as Derek drove them to Lucky Herb Co. They had both received the same text from Scott. 

_We need you at the shop._

“It’s probably just a ghost that needs shepherding,” Derek said, when he sensed Stiles was worried. 

“Are you well enough to shepherd?” Stiles asked, turning to look at him.

“Stiles, I’m fine,” Derek said, glancing at him and then turning his eyes back to the road.

He could tell that Stiles was not reassured, but there wasn’t really anything more he could say.

They pulled up to the shop, got out of the car, and went inside. Scott, Allison, and Lydia were standing with a bald black man and a short Asian woman that Stiles didn’t recognize. Derek looked grim, but held his hand out to the man in a friendly manner.

“Deaton,” he said, shaking hands with him. Then he turned to the woman and shook her hand as well. “Kira. I would say it’s nice to see you, but if you’re here, I’m guessing it’s something serious.”

“Deaton,” Scott said, piping up, “this is Stiles, the new shepherd we were telling you about. Stiles, this is Deaton.”

Stiles stepped forward and shook the man’s hand. “Hi, it’s good to finally meet you.” He turned to Kira and shook her hand, too. “And, you’re Kira?”

Kira nodded and smiled radiantly. She was gorgeous, with shiny black waves of hair that fell to the middle of her back. “Hi, Stiles. Nice to meet you.”

“You’re right, Derek,” Deaton said. “We have a situation in the city that we need help with. Specifically, we came to ask Scott, and if he’s willing, Stiles, to come with us to look into a building that’s being haunted.”

“Me?” asked Stiles in surprise. “Why do you need me?”

“From what Scott has told me, your ability works differently from most shepherds,” Deaton said. “The only shepherd in the San Francisco group that works the way you and Scott do is Jackson, but he can’t handle a haunting like this by himself. I doubt that any of us could, actually.

“It’s an abandoned hotel. Strange sightings have been reported during the attempts to remodel it. There have been several deaths.”

“Did you say ‘deaths’?” asked Lydia, shocked. 

“Wait a minute,” Stiles said, “ghosts don’t kill people.” He turned to Derek. “Right?”

Derek looked torn. “No, not usually.”

“That one on the bridge might have killed us, if you weren’t there,” Allison added.

Stiles looked at her, stricken. All of his years, baking for ghosts, it had always been a pretty peaceful affair. Sure, it was confusing at first, before he figured it all out, but afterwards, it was nice. He liked baking. And, on some level, he understood that what he was doing was helping. Since meeting Allison, the ghost thing had gotten a lot more complicated, and he didn’t know if he liked it. But, now that he understood it better, he knew that things could never go back to the way they were.

“If you don’t want to come, I understand,” Deaton said. “This kind of work isn’t for everyone.”

Stiles blinked a few times, thinking, but nodded his head. “No, I’ll go.”

“Good,” Deaton said, sounding relieved. Looking at Stiles and Scott, he asked, “Can the two of you meet us at the dojo tomorrow at five?” 

Scott nodded. “Sure.”

Deaton smiled grimly and said, “See you then.” 

Dipping his head goodbye, he turned and left the shop. Kira gave them a small smile and followed.

“The dojo?” Stiles asked, after they left. 

“It belongs to Kira’s family,” Scott explained. “The San Francisco group uses it like a headquarters, kind of like we use the shop.”

“Are you sure about this, Stiles?” Derek asked, his eyebrows drawn together in concern.

Stiles shrugged, defeated. “What choice do I have?” he replied.

Sighing, Derek pulled him close and hugged him. “This could be dangerous, you know.”

Derek was holding on a little too tight, but at the moment, it was actually comforting. “I know,” Stiles said, softly. “I know.”

* * *

Scott and Stiles walked into Kira’s family dojo and found Deaton, Kira, and an almost too pretty rich boy who could only be Jackson, standing and talking to each other. Having found out earlier that Jackson was Lydia’s ex, Stiles took an almost immediate dislike to him, which was not helped by the douchebag sneer on his face, and clothes that probably cost more than Stiles’ entire wardrobe. 

“Stiles, this is Jackson,” Deaton said. “Jackson, Stiles,” he continued, gesturing at Stiles.

“Hi,” Stiles said.

Jackson gave him a _bro nod_. “So, you’re the guy who shepherded seventy ghosts with a couple of chocolate chip cookies?” Jackson said.

“Yup,” Stiles answered, trying to play it cool. “That’s me.”

Jackson nodded, considering him for a moment. “Not bad.”

“Uh, thanks,” Stiles answered, still keeping his guard up, but unsure now of how to feel about him.

“Shall we go?” asked Deaton.

“Are you coming with us?” Scott asked Kira.

She raised her hand as if she were volunteering for something. “Driving the getaway van.”

Stiles smiled. He liked Kira.

True to her word, Kira led them to a minivan parked behind the dojo.

“It’s my mom’s,” she said, almost apologetically. “She said I could borrow it when I told her what we were doing.”

Kira drove them to the hotel, getting them there in twenty minutes, despite the crazy San Francisco roads and the crazy San Francisco drivers.

“You really know your way around the city,” Stiles commented as they got out of the van.

“I’ve lived here all my life. Got my driver’s license when I was fifteen and a half, so I could help bring my grandmother to her doctor’s appointments. She was an exorcist too, in Japan.” Kira shrugged. “She had a really bad experience one time and never really recovered from it.” She glanced at Scott, who was standing outside, talking to Deaton and Jackson. “I’m just glad we have Scott. Hopefully that won’t happen to any of us.” Looking back at Stiles, she said, “You’d better get going. It’s starting to get dark, and we don’t want to be out here too late. I’ll keep the engine running.”

“Really?” Stiles asked, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “Why?”

Kira gave him a patronizing smile. “San Francisco is an old city. She’s seen a lot. You have to be prepared for anything. Go ahead. I’ll be waiting.”

Stiles nodded, not at all comforted by her words, but started walking towards the others anyway. When they saw him coming, they turned and headed towards the hotel. Stiles jogged a little to catch up with them.

“You okay?” asked Scott.

“Me?” Stiles asked. “Sure. Homicidal ghost, creepy hotel, what’s not to like?”

Scott reached out and squeezed Stiles’ shoulder. “Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Stiles nodded, as Deaton opened the front door of the hotel.

“Derek would kill me,” Scott finished with a smirk.

Stiles narrowed his eyes at him, but Scott just smiled and gave him a gentle shove through the door.

It was dark inside, the air heavy with the scent of sawdust. Construction equipment was strewn about, while various parts of the lobby were in different states of demolition, construction or repair. 

“Guys, I know this is going to sound ridiculous, considering what we do, but I seriously feel like we just stepped into a horror movie,” Stiles said, looking around the hotel. “It’s not cold in here, though. Shouldn’t it be cold?”

“Cold is usually a sign of poltergeist activity,” Deaton said. “I don’t think that’s what we’re dealing with. With poltergeists, you have objects moving around, footsteps, creaking, the cold obviously, but there were no reports of that kind of thing. And, for all the trouble they cause, poltergeists rarely kill anyone. At least, not directly.”

“What did they report?” asked Scott.

“There were the accidents, of course, that killed three men,” Deaton said. “Sightings of a strange man. People becoming aggressive and angry. One person went crazy and had to be hospitalized. A couple of them swore they felt like they were being watched all the time.”

“Awesome,” Jackson said. “So, what is it exactly that we’re looking for?”

“You all know as much as I do,” Deaton replied. “Just do what you normally do. Try to get a sense of the spirit that’s haunting this place. Figure out what’s keeping it here, and see if any of your gifts might be up to the task of helping to move it.”

“I thought you said this wasn’t like that,” Scott said.

Deaton looked at him and shrugged. “I’m hoping that I’m wrong.”

Stiles sighed, then froze. “Uh, guys. Guys!” he said frantically, grabbing at Scott’s arm.

They all turned to see what he was talking about, and saw a figure, glowing white, but opaque, standing behind them about twenty feet away. He was a tall, skinny man, with loose skin and straggly hair. His clothes were in tatters, and he had an overall look of raggedness about him. He was completely white. Except for his eyes. His eyes were black.

Jackson swallowed and his eyes went wide. “Um, wha-what is that?”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Deaton said pushing his way to the front of the group and crowding the three behind him. “It’s a demon,” he whispered.

“A what?!” Stiles squeaked. “You mean like a demon from hell?”

“I’ll explain later,” Deaton said, taking a step backwards and pushing them all along with him. “Right now, we need to get out of here.”

Whispering something none of them could make out, he reached into his pocket and flung a handful of black powder out in front of him. Instantly, it formed a thin black line that stretched across the room between them and the demon. In the next instant, the demon was right up against the line, its face contorting in rage, baring its teeth at them.

“What is that stuff?” Jackson asked, scrambling backwards.

“Mountain ash,” Deaton replied, turning his back on the demon and urging them to move. “It forms a barrier against evil, but the demon will figure a way to get around it sooner rather than later. We need to get out of here. Now!”

The four ran through the hotel, quickly finding a side exit and escaping into the night.

“Is it confined to the hotel, or can it follow us?” Scott asked, as they ran.

“I don’t know,” Deaton replied. “Let’s just get out of here before it has the chance to try!”

True to her word, Kira was sitting in the van with the engine running. When she saw them coming, she stepped on the brake, threw the van into drive, and unlocked the doors.

“Drive! Drive!” Deaton yelled once the last of them piled into the van. Kira peeled out of the parking lot before the side door even finished closing.

“What happened in there?” Kira asked frantically. “What did you see?”

“It’s a demon,” Deaton answered, trying to catch his breath. “Just like we were afraid of.”

“A demon!” Kira asked. “Are you sure? Is it following you? Is that why you were running?”

“Hopefully not,” Deaton said. “I created a mountain ash barrier, which should have confused it long enough for us to get away.”

“Wait a second! Hold on!” Stiles exclaimed. “What are you talking about? You keep saying demon! Is that what you’re saying? Is this some creature that clawed its way out of hell?”

“No,” Deaton answered. “At least, I don’t think so. The current theory is that demons are what ghosts turn into, after they’ve been a poltergeist for a while. I understand you’ve had the opportunity to encounter one of those?”

Stiles nodded.

“And, you understand how relatively rare a poltergeist is?” Deaton asked.

Stiles nodded, again.

“Well, demons are even more rare than that,” Deaton continued. “Not every ghost will turn into a poltergeist. Some have been around for hundreds of years, and they just keep existing, never moving on, yet never completely losing themselves to the degradation of time. For those that do transition into poltergeists, that form is actually pretty stable. Some poltergeists have been around since the 1700s, earlier even. It takes a special kind of person to transform into a demon, and it usually doesn’t take long. Less than a century for most, I would guess.

“The real difference between a demon and a poltergeist is that a poltergeist isn’t actually evil. Poltergeists are angry and confused, sometimes mischievous, but they don’t intentionally set out to do harm. Demons are different. Maybe it’s because they started out that way in life, or maybe being a ghost changed them somehow, I don’t know. But make no mistake, that creature in there has killed, and it will kill again if we can’t figure out a way to stop it.”

He paused, and thought for a moment. “Did any of you pick up on anything? Anything that might help us deal with it?”

“Oh yeah,” Scott answered, nodding. “That thing was totally out of whack. I can bring some stuff to help balance it out, but you know how my gift works. Even on a regular ghost, it could take days worth of medicine to shepherd it along. This thing could take months, years maybe, assuming it would just sit there and let me do my thing, which I’m guessing it won’t.”

“What about you, Jackson?” Deaton asked.

“Just a chord, a couple of lyrics, nothing much. Not really enough to make a whole video, but maybe Boyd can help me flesh it out.” Jackson thought for a minute, then nodded. “Yeah, I think I can come up with something.”

Deaton turned to Stiles. “You?”

Stiles took a deep breath. “Baklava. Right at the end there, I just caught this scent of pistachio and honey. A hint of cinnamon. I’ve never made it before, though. I’m gonna have to do some research and test it out. I’m guessing this needs to be perfect.”

“Yes, it does,” Deaton replied.

“So, what do we do, now?” asked Scott. 

“This is going to take all of us,” Deaton said. “We need to come up with a plan. I can bring our group down to your shop tomorrow morning. Can you make sure everyone’s there?”

“Yeah, sure,” Scott said, looking nervous. “We can do this, though, right? Handle a demon.”

Deaton set his mouth into a grim line. “I hope so.”

* * *

“What’s the dove for?” Stiles asked, nodding at the small cage Deaton was carrying.

“In case nothing else works,” Deaton replied, grimly. “Don’t worry,” he said, after seeing the look on Stiles’ face, “I’m sure it won’t come to that. We have a plan. Just stand in the middle of the room while we get everything set up. We won’t let anything happen to you.”

Scott and Derek looked almost as worried as Stiles felt, which wasn’t reassuring, but he did as he was told. Clutching at the glass baking dish he was carrying as if it were a talisman that could ward off evil, he stood in the middle of the hotel ballroom as everyone else prepared for their roles. Rationally, he knew he didn’t need to bring an entire dish of baklava, that a single square would have been more than enough for what they were doing, but there was no arguing with irrational fear. They were fighting a demon. As far as he was concerned, there was no such thing as irrational fear with demons.

Lydia and Kira were busy tracing a protective circle around where he stood, Lydia with her dance steps, and Kira with the steps of a kata, a choreographed martial arts practice form she had created for this particular working. Boyd, a tall, muscular, black man from the San Francisco group, provided the music for them, sitting nearby in a metal folding chair, playing classical guitar. Stiles watched as Lydia twirled and Kira’s sword flashed, picking up stray beams of sunlight in the dark room. 

The gift that allowed him to see ghosts also allowed him to see the lines of energy they were tracing onto the floor as they wove around each other, creating a complex circle of loops, curves, and whorls. By itself, the circle would not be strong enough to hold the demon, but bolstered by the rest of their gifts, and a generous helping of mountain ash, it just might.

Lydia and Kira had practiced together for a week, the movements of their respective disciplines coming together to create a harmonious whole. People would pay money to see it performed on stage, Stiles thought, as Kira swiped with her sword, and Lydia arched backwards to avoid being cut.

Off to his left, Derek, Allison, and Isaac, a tall writer with curly blonde hair, also from the San Francisco group, had set up in a quiet corner to do their work. Isaac wrote poetry, like Allison, but like Derek, he specialized in ghosts who were on the verge of turning into poltergeists. 

To his right, Scott and Deaton were discussing something over small mountains of herbs, Deaton’s mysterious dove off to one side. Jackson sat by himself some distance away, the minute-long video he'd made with Boyd playing on a continuous loop.

The demon they had come to confront had yet to make an appearance, though they could all feel him lurking. They also discovered the presence of several ghosts that the demon seemed to be siphoning energy from, no surprise after their encounter on the bridge. Allison had made a quick connection with one of them and was in the process of shepherding it, insisting it would take less than an hour. The rest of the ghosts, they would have to come back for later.

Everyone was busy while Stiles stood there with his baklava, feeling very much like a small sheep that had been tied up at the top of mountain as an offering for an angry dragon. How had this happened again? Oh, right, he had agreed to be the one to lure the demon into the circle. Derek had fought him on this until he realized that there wasn’t really anyone else who could do it. None of their gifts acted like lures the way that Stiles’ did. His gift was the only one that played on their feelings of desire.

There was a moment right before it happened that Stiles realized it was happening. When everything went just a little bit fuzzy around the edges, like an old magnifying glass. He would remember it only later, after everything had settled and he had time to think about what they had lost. When he actually had time to stop and think about what had actually happened that night. 

The baking dish dropped. Stiles felt like he was moving through molasses, barely having enough time to glance down as it slipped through his fingers, slipped down through the air like a small silver fish dropping into water, sliding, not falling, towards the floor. He had enough time to wonder at the amount of force that was required to turn his head, but not enough time to stop the baklava from hitting the tile. It was like moving through static, a billion pinpricks of noise holding him in place, the glass shattering like the tinkling of a chandelier, booming like an ancient tome hitting the top of a massive oak table in a vast, empty room.

He blinked. The demon was in front of him, its glowing white body stark against the deep shadow of the ballroom. Everyone else had stopped moving, as if he was standing outside of time, but only just, because movement was all but impossible, every twitch costing years of his life, every blink, a lost decade. Stiles fought it, whatever it was, tried to lift his hands, tried to push against the pressure at his jaw, to open his mouth and call out warning to his friends, while the demon watched. It tilted its head to the side, observing him with black void eyes.

Another figure emerged from the front of the demon’s body. A ghost. A Greek man, Stiles didn’t know how he knew, but he did. The ghost squatted down in front of the baklava on the floor, regarding it curiously.

Suddenly, with a loud rushing sound, there was chaos. Everyone was shouting, scared angry noises. They had heard the crash of the baking dish and seen the ghost of the Greek man. The demon was gone.

Stiles called out into the noise, “It’s not him! It’s not him! He tricked us! He doesn’t care about the baklava!”

But, this only led to more shouting, more confusion as everyone tried to draw together. Stiles could see the lines of the circle disappearing faster than he thought possible, and he reached out subconsciously to Derek. Derek stepped towards him, arms extended to pull Stiles in, but an invisible force swept him aside like a piece of tissue paper. 

“Derek!” Stiles screamed, running after him, only to fall on his face as an extension cord whipped around his ankles, binding them together.

Everyone was shouting again. Deaton tried to make a circle to mountain ash, while Kira held out her sword in front of her defensively, peering into the darkness.

“I don’t see it!” Kira yelled. “I can’t see anything!”

“What happened?” Scott yelled, as he and Allison ran towards Stiles. “Is it the demon?”

“Yes,” Stiles grunted. “It tricked us. I don’t know how it knew, but it did.” Stiles grabbed Allison’s wrist as Scott tried to untangle him from the extension cord. “Go see if Derek is okay,” he pleaded.

Allison nodded and stood up to go. Stiles tried to help Scott, but they both looked up when Allison screamed, and they saw her fly through air, crash to the floor, and lie still.

“Allison!” Scott yelled.

“Go!” Stiles screamed at Scott. “Hurry! I can untie myself!”

Scott ran towards Allison, as Stiles groped at the cord wrapped around his ankles, stealing frantic glances at Derek’s unmoving body.

Someone else was screaming now, and Stiles glanced up to see Boyd being pulled away by his feet, clawing at the floor, trying to stop whatever invisible monster was dragging him away. 

Kira ran after him, yelling and brandishing her sword.

“Kira!” Deaton yelled.

Stiles got free of the cord and ran to Derek. He was unconscious, but breathing. He looked up and saw Kira chopping at the empty air where there should have been a person standing, but Boyd kept getting pulled further away. 

She dropped the sword, and grabbed onto his hands, trying to pull him the other way, when Lydia’s shriek pierced the air. The power cord from Jackson’s laptop had wrapped itself around his neck and he was dangling by it, suspended in the air, his legs kicking as he desperately grabbed at the cord, trying to draw breath.

“Somebody do something!” Lydia sobbed.

Stiles didn’t know where he had come from, but Isaac was somehow standing next to him and Derek, who was finally awake.

“I can take it inside of me,” Derek said weakly, breathing hard. “Like when I deal with poltergeists. I can take it inside of me and it might let Jackson go.”

Stiles stole a glance at Jackson, whose face was bright red. “You can’t!” he said, feeling immediately guilty, but determined nonetheless. “You’re too weak. It’ll just kill _you_ instead.”

“I can do it,” Isaac said, quickly. He turned to Derek. “You’re the one who taught me how. I’ve done it a couple of times now, and the last one was two months ago. I’m totally ready.”

Derek considered him for a moment, then nodded. Isaac set his mouth into a thin line, glanced at Jackson, back at Derek, then took off running. Derek coughed and clutched at Stiles. He shoved his phone into Stiles’ hands. 

“You have to go,” he said, looking into Stiles’ shocked face.

“What?!” Stiles exclaimed. “Are you crazy? No!”

Derek coughed again. “You need to get help. Call Kate. Her number’s in my phone.”

“Call Kate?” Stiles asked, confused. He stole a quick look back at what Isaac was doing, then looked back at Derek. “But, she hurt you. We can’t trust her.”

“Go,” Derek said weakly, losing consciousness. “While Isaac distracts it. Or we’re all dead.”

“Derek!” Stiles yelled, shaking him. But, it was no use. Derek was out again. 

Stiles looked back and saw everyone gathered around Isaac. Jackson wasn’t hanging from the cord anymore, but everyone was still shouting. Stiles flinched when Isaac lashed out, hitting Deaton in the face and knocking him to the floor. Kira swiped at Isaac with her sword, and he dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding getting his arm chopped off. When he kicked her in the stomach, sending her flying across the room, Stiles knew he had to leave. He could feel the panic setting in, but he swallowed it down. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Derek was right. He needed to find Kate, and he needed to find her now.

Stiles burst into the blinding afternoon sun, blinking at the harsh brightness of it. Holding Derek’s phone up to his face as his eyes adjusted to the light, he frantically scrolled through the contacts list, stumbling as he ran towards his car.

He hesitated when he saw Kate’s number, but the thought of what was happening to his friends forced him to make the call.

She answered after the second ring.

“Derek?” she said, her voice sounding sultry. “Well, this is a surprise.”

“This isn’t Derek,” he said, quickly. “It’s Stiles.”

“Stiles,” Kate purred. “I was hoping to hear from you.”

“Kate, listen! We don’t’ have time for this!” Stiles said, frantic now. “Derek’s in trouble; they all are! We need your help!”

“Stiles, calm down,” Kate said firmly. “Tell me what happened.”

“We found a demon,” Stiles said, getting into his car and looking back to see if anything was following him. “We tried to take care of it, but it overpowered us. It got inside of Isaac. I think it’s trying to kill them!”

“Where are you?” Kate asked. She sounded like she was running now. “We had a job in the city, but we can be back in Berkeley in a half hour.”

“No, no!” Stiles yelled. “We’re in the city, too! The Kensington Hotel. You know, the one that’s being remodeled?”

“We’ll be there in ten minutes,” Kate said, hanging up the phone.

Stiles looked at the phone screen, then up at the hotel. Anything could happen in ten minutes. 

He reached for the door handle, but stopped. 

He was powerless against the demon. He hadn’t even brought the right baked good. Maybe it didn’t matter what he baked.

Grunting in frustration, he ground the heels of his hands against his eyes. They could all be dead before Kate got there! Why was he so useless!? 

He checked his watch. A single minute had gone by. 

If he went back in the hotel, what could he do? Maybe he could try to distract the demon, and then they could all get away. Yeah! Maybe that would work!

He reached for the handle again. And, he stopped again. Who was he kidding? The demon was impossibly fast. He wasn’t even sure why it hadn’t killed them all immediately. Maybe it was just playing with them. Resting his head against the steering wheel, he tried to take a few deep breaths. The only thing that would calm him down right now would either be seeing his friends safe or some serious drugs.

There were glowing spots swirling around along the edges of his vision. He was hyperventilating. If he felt useless to his friends now, how much more useless would he be if he passed out? He needed to calm down. He focused on his breathing. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

He’d had a couple of panic attacks after the bridge incident. Each time, Derek breathed with him, telling Stiles to listen to him breathing, to feel his breath going in and out. In. Out. In. Out.

His eyes watered at the thought of Derek. Derek was in there with that thing. He wiped angrily at his cheek. Maybe Kate was right. Maybe he needed to learn a different way. A better way. The ghosts were already dead. If they were going to turn into demons that could do things like this, they needed to get rid of them as fast as possible. Kate was right about the shepherds. They were too slow. And, people were dying because of it.

Grabbing the door handle, he shoved the door open. He might not be able to do anything, but damned if he was going to let his friends die alone. He needed to try, even if that meant dying with them. 

He jogged back to the hotel door, and placed his hand on the knob. After taking a deep breath, he steadied himself, preparing to go back inside. Suddenly, there was the sound of screeching tires behind him, and he whipped his head around. 

Kate leapt from her car and started running towards him, her team not far behind. She was holding a shotgun.

“Are they in there?” she asked, stomping towards the door.

Stiles nodded dumbly as she reared back, lifted her leg, and kicked the door in.

“Come on!” she yelled behind her, as she entered the hotel.

Stiles watched as they streamed past where he stood, each carrying their various tools. Matt brought up the rear, and Stiles fell in line behind him. 

There were so many questions he wanted to ask, but he bit his tongue. Obviously, they had dealt with this kind of thing before. Right?

“Stiles!” Kate yelled. “Get up here! Where am I going?”

Stiles jogged up to the front. “It’s right up here,” he said, gesturing ahead of them. “They’re in the ballroom.”

Kate barely spared him a sideways glance. “Don’t get in the way,” she said.

Stiles ducked his head, nodding slightly, and got behind her.

Kate stopped by the door and pumped the barrel of her shotgun. “You know what to do,” she said, looking back at her team.

The twins clasped hands and glared at the door. Kate stood with her back flat against the wall, took a steadying breath, spun around and kicked the door in.

Everyone was huddled together in with Deaton standing in front of them, eyes wide as Kate and her team stepped through the door with Stiles. Deaton had managed to get everyone inside of a circle of mountain ash, while Isaac stalked the perimeter around them. Isaac’s eyes were black and he had a feral look to him. For the time being, he seemed to be ignoring Kate and her team. 

Derek and Jackson were lying still on the floor.

Stiles locked eyes with Scott. Scott patted Derek gently on the chest, gave Stiles a small smile and nodded. 

Fighting the dizziness of relief, Stiles blinked his tears away. “What are we gonna do?” he asked.

“Quiet!” Matt said, sharply.

“There’s a couple of other ghosts in here,” Aiden said. “Nothing serious, though.”

“It looks like the demon’s getting power from them,” Ethan added.

Jennifer was mumbling something under her breath. Probably Latin, Stiles thought.

Kate leveled her shotgun at Isaac.

“What are you doing?!” Stiles cried out in alarm.

“Hey, you!” Kate said to Isaac, ignoring Stiles. “Got a little present for ya!”

Finally, Isaac turned his gaze on her, crouching as if he were about to charge.

Kate pulled the trigger and Isaac went flying, landing with a grunt.

“Oh my God!” Stiles screamed, lunging towards him as Matt held him back.

“Relax,” Kate said condescendingly, pumping her shotgun again. “It’s just rock salt.”

Jennifer walked over to where Isaac lay, reading the Latin furiously. He jerked on the ground as she splashed Holy Water on him. The twins joined her, their voices a heavy staccato of unintelligible phrases designed to drive the evil from Isaac’s body.

Believing they had the situation under control, Stiles turned to look back at his friends, only to have a body slam into him and knock him to the floor. He rolled, pushing himself to his feet, finding Aiden knock out cold in front of him. 

Isaac was standing again. He backhanded Ethan and started advancing on Jennifer. Kate fired her shotgun again, but Isaac somehow managed to dodge it. Matt fired two rounds into his chest, which knocked him down, but Stiles saw that he was already trying to get back up again.

The demon was too strong; the Latin wasn’t working. He cast about, trying to think of something, anything. That’s when he caught the faint blue glow out of the corner of his eye. The center of the original circle that Kira and Lydia had been tracing. The ghost of the Greek man was still kneeling on the ground. Stiles ran.

“Jennifer!” Deaton yelled.

She stopped her reading and looked up at Deaton, crazed fear in her eyes. 

“The bird!” he said pointing at the pigeon, still in it’s tiny cage on the table. “Do you know the ritual?” 

Whipping her head towards the pigeon, then back to Deaton, she nodded, brushing stray hair from her face. She ran for the bird, but Isaac was up now. 

Stiles looked at the baklava on the floor, sitting amongst the ruined shards of his baking dish. He gingerly picked up a piece that he was hoping was free of glass, the ghost’s eyes tracking as he lifted it in his hand.

The pigeon was flapping its wings as Jennifer fumbled with the catch on the door. Isaac was about to lunge, looking for all the world like he intended to crush the life out of her.

Stiles bit into the baklava. The ghost standing in front of him seemed to deflate a little. Then, he disappeared. Isaac dropped his arms, turned to face Stiles and snarled. Matt pumped two more bullets into his chest, but that didn’t stop him from running across the room towards Stiles.

Even full of salt and bullets, Stiles knew this demon monster could easily outrun him. He was suddenly feeling very tired, and he had to fight to keep himself upright. Right before Isaac was on top of him, the ghost he thought he had just shepherded rematerialized in Isaac’s path, stopping him dead in his tracks. Isaac looked more angry than confused, but it was just enough time for Jennifer to finish whatever it was she was doing. Isaac collapsed to the floor and the pigeon started glowing white in her hands. Holding it against the table with one hand, she picked up a very long needle in the other, then expertly slid it right into the pigeon’s heart. The pigeon immediately went limp and the glow began to fade.

Everyone seemed to be holding their breath, afraid to break the silence, as if that might cause all of their troubles to come rushing back at them.

His huddle of friends started to pull apart and Stiles limped towards them. He wasn’t sure why he was limping. 

Scott pulled him into a hug. “You saved us,” he said, his voice raw. “You saved us.”

Stiles squeezed him back. “I’m just glad you’re okay. How’s Derek?” he asked, stealing a glance at his boyfriend lying on the floor.

“He’ll be fine,” Scott said, his lip quivering. “Jackson didn’t make it, though.”

“What?!” Stiles said, turning quickly to find Lydia sitting next to Jackson’s body, crying softly.

Jackson’s neck was bruised, purple, yellow, and green.

“Lydia, I’m so sorry,” Stiles said, placing his hand on her shoulder. She held onto it, but didn’t say anything.

Kate came sauntering over. “Isaac's dead,” she said. “It’s a shame. He was a good kid. He had potential.”

Stiles stood up and looked at her. “Thank you for coming,” he said, sounding exhausted. “Thank you for saving them.”

“You could have saved them, too, if you knew what you were doing,” Kate said. She handed him her card. “Why don’t you give me a call when you’re ready to stop baking. We could use a guy like you.”

Stiles looked back at everyone, but they were either glaring at Kate or refusing to make eye contact. Allison’s arms were crossed, and she was busy studying the ground.

He turned back to Kate. “I think I’m fine where I am.”

She smiled and tilted her head to the side. “You know how to reach me if you change your mind,” she said, turning and heading towards the door. The others followed her, including Ethan, who was helping Aiden walk.

Stiles knelt down next to Derek and looked at Kate’s business card. Shoving it into his pocket, he stood up and started doing what he could to help so they could leave.


	7. Chapter 7

Even though Derek’s recovery was a lot faster than the last time, Stiles insisted that they do normal boyfriend things for a while before either of them tried shepherding again. They needed time to recover. For a over month, they went to see movies, went out to eat, went on hikes, and explored the city, and neither of them attempted to shepherd a single ghost. 

Once, Stiles had suggested they go visit Alcatraz, but Derek just stared at him silently until he realized how bad of an idea that was.

“So,” Stiles said, slowly tracing his finger on Derek’s bare chest as they lay in bed on a lazy Saturday morning. “What do you want to do today?”

Derek captured Stiles’ hand and kissed his palm. “Do you mean before or after I fuck you stupid?”

Stiles rolled his eyes and crawled on top of Derek, kissing him on the mouth. “After, obviously.” He smirked. “You know, that oddities store on Haight Street? I’ve always wanted to go there.”

Derek lifted his head and kissed the side of Stiles’ neck. “That sounds like it could be fun.” He rolled them so that Stiles’ was the one lying on the bed and he was the one on top. “Golden Gate Park is at the end of Haight. We could walk around there after.”

Stiles bit his bottom lip and nodded, but Derek could tell all thoughts of San Francisco had left his mind. Lowering his head, he kissed Stiles, trying to communicate all of his desire and longing through that single point of contact. No one, man or woman, had ever made him feel the way that Stiles did, and he needed Stiles to know that.

They were both naked already, so it was only a matter of putting the condom on and getting them both slicked up with lube, before he was lining himself up to enter Stiles. Stiles’ chin twitched and he took in a small breath when Derek gently pushed his way in, but he immediately brought Derek’s head down for a kiss. Stiles kissed him hungrily as he slowly but firmly pounded Stiles’ hole with his cock. Derek treasured every soft little moan that Stiles made, every little stutter of his tongue as he hit just the right place to make Stiles come apart beneath him.

He could tell Stiles was about to come when Stiles started grabbing at his back and his buttocks, as if he were trying to push more of Derek inside of himself. Derek watched Stiles face intently as Stiles pumped himself once, twice, three times before he started spurting onto his stomach. The sight of it sent Derek into a frenzy and he pounded into Stiles until he too was coming, his cock shuddering inside of Stiles as his vision went black. 

Breathing heavily and still inside of Stiles, he kissed Stiles all over his face, down his neck and chest. He let his softening cock slip out of Stiles so that he could reach Stiles' stomach, where he carefully lapped up every stray bit of Stiles’ spunk with his tongue, savoring the bitter salty slickness of it. He kissed Stiles again, so that Stiles could taste himself, then pulled the condom off, tied the end, then tossed it in the trash. 

“You ready to shower?” Derek asked.

“You go on ahead,” Stiles replied with a goofy, relaxed grin. “I just want to lay here a while and enjoy how this feels.” 

He stretched out his arms, caressing the soft sheets as if to emphasize just how amazing everything was. Derek just smiled and shook his head, and Stiles enjoyed the sight of Derek’s ass disappearing into the bathroom.

When the shower started running, he reached over to his wallet and pulled out Kate’s card. He hadn’t said anything to Derek, but he and Kate had talked a couple of times over the last few weeks. So far, it was only over the phone, but he was still worried about what Derek would think. He was equally curious to see an exorcism from beginning to end. A normal one, or as normal as they could be, he supposed, not some rush job to finish an attempted shepherding gone wrong.

He dialed the number. Kate answered after the third ring.

“Hello, Stiles,” Kate said. “It’s been a while.”

Stiles grimaced. Kate had a way of always sounding sultry, no matter what they were talking about.

“Hi, Kate,” Stiles replied. “I was thinking about what you said, and I decided I want to go with you on the exorcism tomorrow.”

“Great!” Kate said. “I’ll text you the address.”

“Do I need to do anything?” Stiles asked.

“For your first time, you can just watch,” Kate said. “Depending on how you feel about it, if you want to come to another one, maybe we can teach you some of the Latin phrases we use. How does that sound?”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Stiles replied, nodding. He turned his head towards the bathroom door. Derek had only been gone a couple of minutes, but he didn’t want to risk being caught talking to Kate. “Hey, listen, I gotta go. I’ll see you tomorrow, ‘kay?”

“3 o’clock,” Kate said. “Don’t be late.”

“I won’t,” Stiles said, before hanging up the phone.

Placing the phone back on the nightstand, he let his head fall to the pillow. He hoped he was doing the right thing. Grunting, he pulled himself out of bed to join Derek in the shower. 

* * *

The address that Kate had texted to Stiles turned out to be an office building in Marin. In general, Stiles tried to avoid Marin, the combination of affluence and hipster/hippie tendencies both bizarre and annoying to him, but this particular office building seemed pretty normal. Also, it was Sunday, so there really shouldn’t be anyone around. 

Kate and her team were standing in the parking lot, checking their gear. Matt was standing off to the side talking to a tall dusky man who was wearing a suit.

“There he is!” Kate said, a little too brightly as Stiles walked up to them. 

“Hi, Stiles,” Jennifer said. She at least seemed genuinely glad to see him.

The twins nodded at him, while the man standing next to Matt’s gave him an appreciative once over.

“Who’s your friend?” the suit asked.

“This is Stiles, Danny,” Matt said, giving Stiles a condescending glance. “He’s a baker.”

Danny looked at Matt quizzically. “A baker? Why’d you bring a baker?”

“Ignore him,” Stiles said. “I’m here for the ghost stuff. The baking thing is…complicated.”

“Danny owns this building,” Kate explained. “The people who work here have been complaining about weird things, so Danny called up his buddy, Matt. We checked it out, and it turns out they’ve got a poltergeist on their hands. Lucky us.”

“Lucky?” Stiles asked.

“Well, yeah!” Kate scoffed. “This is our job and Danny’s paying us a crap ton of money to get rid of it.”

Stiles’ eyes widened, but finding himself caught in the rays of Matt’s death glare, he new better to say anything. 

“Enough talk,” Kate declared, pumping the barrel of her ever present shotgun. “Danny you’re free to join us or not, it’s your choice. Let’s move!”

Kate started walking toward the office building, with Jennifer and the twins following close behind.

“You coming?” Matt asked Danny.

“Is it safe?” Danny asked.

Matt mulled the question over, but it was Stiles who answered, “No.”

“Are you scared, Stilinski?” Matt sneered.

“Are you not?” Stiles asked, dumbfounded at the question.

“I thought you were all part of the same group?” Danny asked.

“I’m not part of their group,” Stiles said, quickly.

“You can either go in there and see how this is really done, or you can stay out here and keep making muffins,” Matt said to Stiles. “Either way, I need to go. Make up your mind.”

Stiles and Danny watched as he stalked off.

“He doesn’t seem to like you very much,” Danny said.

“The feeling is mutual.” He took a moment to study Danny’s stupidly handsome face. He looked like some kind of Pacific Islander, and when he smiled, he had really deep dimples. If he wasn’t already with Derek, he would probably be trying to hit that right now.

“Look, I gotta go,” Stiles said. “Are you coming?”

Danny grimaced and looked down. “I think I’m gonna stay out here,” he said, looking back up at Stiles. “This is all a little too crazy for me.”

Nodding, Stiles said, “That’s probably a good decision.” He stuck out his hand. “It was nice meeting you. I hope I come back out of there.”

Danny looked shocked, but shook his hand. “Are you saying you might not?”

Stiles shrugged. “You never know, right?”

He jogged to catch up with the others.

“Huh,” Matt grunted when Stiles fell in next to him. “I thought you were gonna chicken out.”

Stiles scowled at him. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

Matt laughed. “That I am. Stay out of my way when we’re inside, and we wont have any problems.”

Kate opened the door and let them all inside. “Ethan, Aiden,” she said, flicking on the lights. “Lead the way to this son-of-a-bitch so we can get this over with and get paid.”

The twins clasped hands, and started walking slowly down the hallway, stopping at a bank of elevators. They both looked up at the same time.

“It’s on the third floor,” Ethan said.

Aiden nodded. “It’s not alone.”

Stiles reached out to press the call button, but Jennifer grabbed his hand. “No elevators,” she said. “You don’t want to be trapped in one of those if a poltergeist takes an interest in you.”

Kate walked over to the door leading to the stairway and opened it. The others followed her up. Stiles was really glad they weren’t doing this at night, even though he knew that didn’t make it any less dangerous.

The twins held hands again.

“There’s two of them,” Aiden said.

“Two poltergeists?” Kate asked.

“Yes,” Ethan said, “at opposite ends of the building.”

“We’ll have to take care of them at the same time,” Jennifer said. “If we only focus on one, it makes us vulnerable to the other.”

Kate nodded. “You take the twins and go down that way,” she said, pointing with her shotgun. “I’ll take Stiles and Matt and take care of the other one.”

Jennifer nodded and the group split up.

“Isn’t it dangerous to split up like this?” Stiles asked. “This is how people get killed in horror movies.”

“This isn’t a movie, and nobody’s dying,” Kate said, walking down the hallway with her shotgun pointing out into the darkness. “I said you were just gonna watch today, but things change. Matt and I aren’t seers, so you’re gonna have to be our eyes. Can you handle that?”

Stiles swallowed and nodded.

“Good boy,” Kate said, like she was talking to a dog. “Let’s bag us a poltergeist.”

They checked each room as they went, letting Stiles give the all clear before moving on. Stiles froze when they opened the fifth door. It was an interior room with no windows, the size of a large office, though there was no furniture in it. Stiles tried the light switch, but the light didn’t work. The poltergeist was just standing there in the middle of the room, glowing bright purple. It was a little girl with long dark hair that went all the way to the floor. She was wearing a nightgown. Stiles described her to Matt and Kate as they walked into the room, leaving the door open to let in what little light there was from the hallway.

“That doesn’t sound like the kind of ghost that would be in a place like this,” Matt commented, holding up his weird electronic device and taking measurements of the room.

“Start reading, Matt,” Kate ordered.

He quickly put the device away and pulled out a small chapbook. Flipping to a page he had marked previously, he started reading out loud in Latin. It was gibberish to Stiles, but he could see and feel the effect it was having on the poltergeist. Her head jerked back and her hair flew out to the side. Between one moment and the next she had crossed the room to stand in front of them, causing Stiles to stumble backwards.

“What happened?!” yelled Kate. “What’s going on?!”

“She’s in front of you!” Stiles screamed. “She’s right in front of you!”

Kate cursed, dug into her pocket and produced a small vial of holy water. She wrenched the cork out with her teeth and flung the contents out in front of her. The poltergeist threw up her hands and retreated.

“We need to trap her!” Kate yelled, throwing a canister of salt at Stiles. “Use that to form a barrier around her.”

Stiles looked down at the canister in disbelief, even as he scratched at the paper tab covering the nozzle. “What? Salt? Are you kidding?”

“Just do it!” Kate yelled. “Where is she?”

Having gotten the paper tab off, Stiles looked up. “She’s about six feet in front of you.”

Kate had another canister of salt and was pouring a line as she tried to circle the spot that Stiles described. Stiles started pouring salt as well, surprised that the poltergeist wasn’t trying to get away. Matt’s reading seemed to have some kind of stunning effect which caused the ghost to jerk her head around, like the sound of Matt’s voice was hurting her.

Stiles and Kate met at the opposite side of the circle they had started from, the poltergeist now fully enclosed.

“This is supposed to keep her in?” Stiles asked.

“Spirits can’t cross lines of salt or iron,” Kate said. “That’s the first thing you learn as an exorcist. Didn’t they teach you anything?”

Stiles shrugged. “I guess we don’t really worry about the ghosts going anywhere.”

Kate gave him a confused look, but didn’t say anything. 

“We’re ready, Matt,” Kate said.

Matt smiled maliciously and flipped to a different page. When he started reading, the poltergeist lost it, flying right up to the salt line, but stopping abruptly as if she had slammed into a wall. 

“Whoa!” Stiles said, surprised that the salt actually worked.

Not only had it worked, it looked like the attempt to cross the line had hurt her somehow. As Matt continued to read, the poltergeist grew more crazed and started glowing even brighter.

“There she is,” Kate said, as if she were commenting on a friend she was waiting for suddenly walking through the door.

“You can see her?” Stiles asked.

Kate glanced knowingly at him. “They always reveal themselves in the end.”

The poltergeist was frantic now, desperately seeking a way out of the salt circle. The air in the room started to whip around like a cyclone and she started shrieking. Stiles quickly covered his ears. It was loud and grating and high-pitched, another surprise because he had never heard any ghost make any kind of noise before.

“Is she screaming?” asked Kate, a satisfied smile on her face.

“You can’t hear that?” Stiles yelled.

“Not a peep,” Kate reported happily as she pulled a small brass bowl out of her bag. “I’m guessing this is the part where the twins always let go of each other’s hands.

Stiles watched as Kate poured some yellow powder into the bowl.

“What is that?” Stiles yelled.

“Sulfur,” Kate replied, lighting it with a match and placing the bowl inside the line of salt.

Kate started saying something, more Latin Stiles guessed, and the salt line started to glow, though he wasn’t sure if Kate or Matt could see it. Stiles shrank back as the circle filled with the yellow sulfur smoke, which was somehow being contained within the salt line. He could feel the poltergeist’s pain. He could feel her fear.

Kate and Matt’s voices were in sync now, their hair and clothing being whipped around by the wind. The center of the circle began to glow white-hot. There was a flash, forcing Stiles to flinch and blink, and the room plunged into darkness.

There was a clicking sound, immediately followed by a beam of light. Matt swept the room with his flashlight. “Is she gone?” he asked.

Stiles took a deep breath, taking in a lungful of rotten egg stench, causing him to cough. “She’s gone,” he croaked out. “She’s gone.”

Matt clicked off his flashlight. “We should go see how the others are doing.”

Before any of them could move, they heard footsteps running down the hall. 

“Are you guys okay?” asked Jennifer, stepping into the doorway. The twins appeared behind here.

“Our poltergeist is gone,” Kate said. “What about yours?”

“We took care of it,” Jennifer answered. “I guess that’s it, then?”

“Let’s pack up our stuff and get out of here,” Kate said, using a bit of cloth to carefully grab the hot bowl. “You’re gonna have to tell your friend this is gonna cost him double. Double the poltergeists equals double the price.”

Matt smirked. “Danny’s loaded. We could probably charge him three times as much and he wouldn’t blink, as long as we took care of the problem.”

“Then, charge him three times as much,” Kate said, matter-of-factly.

He considered it for a moment, then nodded and shrugged. “Why not?”

“What is wrong with you people?” Stiles burst out, unable to hold back any longer.

Everyone turned to look at him with confused expressions on their face.

“What happened to, ‘Were protecting the city!’ and all that stuff?” he asked, throwing his hands wide.

Kate put her hands on her hips and shook her head disapprovingly. “We gotta eat, Stiles. This stuff isn’t free,” she said, holding up the sulfur bowl. “Cops get paid, firefighters get paid. Why shouldn’t we?”

Crossing his arms stubbornly in front of him, he said, “I don’t know. It just feels wrong.”

“If it makes you feel any better, you don’t have to take any of the money,” Kate said, smiling. “We have no problem splitting your share.”

“I never said I was joining your group,” Stiles said.

“ _If_ you do,” Kate conceded.

“Look, thanks for letting me tag along today, but I’m gonna have to think about this,” he said.

“Take all the time you need,” Kate said. “Just don’t take too long.”

“Very funny. I’ll just let you all clean up, here,” he said, moving towards the door. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Stiles made his way out of the building by himself. As he walked across the parking lot, he realized he had completely forgotten about Danny.

“Where’s everybody else?” Danny asked.

“They’re cleaning up,” Stiles said, jerking his thumb back towards the office building. “I had to get out of there.”

“That much fun, huh?” Danny said, his dimples reappearing as he smiled.

“You could say that,” Stiles said, squinting in the sunlight. “We took care of two poltergeists for you. You shouldn’t’ have any problems anymore.”

“Two?” Danny asked in surprise.

Stiles nodded. “Yeah, we were surprised, too.”

Danny was quiet for a bit, so Stiles said, “It was nice meeting you, but I have to go.”

“Hey,” Danny said, reaching out his arm. “Are you doing anything tonight?”

Stiles felt the color rising on his cheeks. “Sorry, I have a boyfriend.”

Danny nodded. “I should have guessed. Well, see you around.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, nodding. He walked to his Jeep and drove off, wishing he had someone to talk to about what happened, but knowing that he didn’t.

* * *

The next few months were exhilarating. His relationship with Derek was everything he could have ever hoped for, but it also scared the shit out of him. And, not only because he’d been spending time with Kate behind his back.

He understood everyone’s general mistrust of her, or at least he thought he did. But, Kate had a lot to offer in terms of teaching him about exorcism. He had gone with her team a couple more times, and he wouldn’t say he was completely comfortable with it all, but after what happened at the hotel, he was trying to come to terms with it. Demons should not be a thing that existed in his world, and he was going to do everything in his power to make sure that they didn’t.

That, and he was going to have to start thinking about tuition for next semester. The money for exorcism was surprisingly good, which wasn’t shocking actually. Who wouldn’t pay to get rid of a pesky poltergeist, or worse, a demon? Kate was right. It was win-win for everyone.

Which didn’t explain why he still felt guilty about hiding all of this from Derek and the rest of his friends.

He’d had a close call the other day when Derek came by his apartment and he wasn’t there. Where he said he was going to be. He thought he covered it up pretty well by saying he had to go help his dad with something, and Derek hadn’t brought it up again, but it still made him nervous. He didn’t know how long he could keep it up, and he was starting to feel like he shouldn’t have to. 

It wasn’t like he was doing anything wrong. Shepherds and exorcists had different ways of doing things, sure, but ultimately, they were all on the same side. They were all trying to get rid of ghosts. And, if they were being fair, the exorcists really were a lot faster at getting it done.

Stiles pulled up to the Argent house, where Kate and her team were getting ready for their next job. Kate had said Stiles was going to lead this one, and Stiles, well excited wasn’t really the right word, but he was anxious to get started.

He walked up to the house and rang the doorbell. A few moments later, the door was opened by a tall older man. Stiles recognized him from some pictures Kate had shown him. This was her father, Gerard Argent, an exorcist of some renown who had been trained in France.

“Hello, Mr. Argent,” Stiles said, holding out his hand. “I’m here to see Kate.”

“You must be Stiles,” Gerard said, smiling shaking his hand. “Call me Gerard. Kate’s told me all about you. I understand you’re a seer, like my granddaughter, Allison.”

“Yeah,” Stiles replied. “I guess that’s what we’re called.”

“So, tell me,” Gerard said, gesturing for Stiles to come into the house, “how is Allison? Is she still seeing that Chinese herbalist?”

“You mean Scott?” Stiles asked. “Yeah, they’re good. They’re engaged, actually.”

“Ah, yes,” Gerard said, nodding. “One does tend forget things as we get older.”

Stiles had a hard time believing that Gerard forgot anything.

“So, uh, Kate?” Stiles asked.

“Oh, yes, they’re right through there,” Gerard said, gesturing off to the right. “They’re getting everything ready in the living room.”

“Thanks,” Stiles said, leaving Gerard’s company.

He found Kate and the others getting their gear together.

“How do you want to do this, Stiles?” Kate asked.

Stiles clasped his hands in front of him and said, “Well, I figure for my first time I’ll start with the basics. Salt, holy water, sulfur, Latin, you know the drill. Jennifer can bring mountain ash as a back-up.”

“Sounds good,” Kate said, nodding. “Let’s go.”

They filed out of the house and got into their cars: Stiles took Jennifer and the twins in his Jeep, with Kate and Matt following in a second car. They were headed to a bakery, ironically, the owner complaining of ingredients spoiling faster than normal, strange lights and noises at night, and pastries being broken in the display cases.

“This isn’t a demon, right?” Stiles asked. “I mean, most of this sounds pretty normal for a poltergeist, but spoiling food sounds kind of demonic to me.”

“It’s not typical, but it’s not totally unheard of,” Jennifer said. “You might be right though, this one might be on it’s way to shifting. So, it’s good that we’re going to take care of it today.” She smiled at him reassuringly.

“Don’t worry,” Aiden said. “Even if it _is_ a demon, we’ve taken down demons before.”

“I was there at the hotel,” Stiles said, looking into the rearview mirror. “Your technique leaves a little to be desired.”

“We weren’t prepared for that,” Ethan argued. “That was a full-blown demonic possession and we were just coming back from another case. Don’t blame us for your fuck-ups.”

Stiles felt his ears grow red, but he let the comment pass. It was true. He was at least as much to blame, if not more, than they were. They had all mostly moved on from that event, but every once in a while, he would catch a glimmer of sadness in Lydia’s eyes when she thought no one was watching. 

They pulled up in front of the bakery and got out of their cars. After gathering at the front door, in which a large “Closed” sign was prominently displayed, Kate pressed the key into Stiles hand.

“You’re running the show,” she said, giving him an encouraging smile. 

Taking the key, Stiles nodded. “All right, let’s go!”

He unlocked the door, and was greeted with the familiar scents of baking: sweetness, flour, yeast, and butter, but also something a little off underneath. No poltergeist so far.

His time with Kate’s group had taught him that the twins’ ability didn’t work in the same way as a typical seer. On top of being able to see the ghosts, they got impressions of them and could even get a sense of their general location. Their gift was a kind of super intuition, and even though it only worked when they were in physical contact with each other, it was stronger than what Stiles and the others could do.

“Ethan, Aiden!” Stiles called out. “Tell us what we’re up against.”

The twins stepped forward, and held each other’s hands. They stood silently with their eyes closed for a few seconds before Aiden began to speak.

“It’s in the back,” he said. “It’s alone, but Jennifer’s right. This thing’s going demonic in a couple of years.”

Stiles gave a stiff nod. “Nothing we haven’t seen before,” he said, stepping behind the counter and through the door leading to the kitchen. “You all know what to do.”

Glancing quickly back at the rest of the team, he saw the approving, yet feral, smile on Kate’s face. Bolstered by her confidence in him, he quickly slipped the vial of holy water out of his pocket. 

It felt like the exorcism was over before it had even begun. The poltergeist, orange this time, didn’t even seem to put up a fight. Everyone on the team hit their cues, nothing went wrong, and Stiles barely felt any emotion from the poltergeist at all. They were so busy congratulating themselves that Stiles almost ran into Derek before noticing him standing in the lobby.

Stiles stopped dead in his tracks and everyone stopped talking.

“Derek,” Stiles sputtered out in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

Derek blinked a few times, taking in the scene before him. “I was driving by and I saw your car parked outside,” he began, seemingly at a loss for words.

Stiles could feel his insides crumpling like a piece of paper in a person’s fist. “Derek, I…”

“No, no,” Derek said. “I get it.”

Stiles could see the simmering anger, and worse, the disappointment, settling in behind his eyes.

“Your boy did good in there,” Kate said, with a smirk from somewhere behind his left shoulder.

Derek’s eyes darted to her, his expression killing any further comment she was about to say. Kate held up her hands and looked to the side, signaling her withdrawal from the conversation.

“I really do get it, Stiles,” Derek said, softer now. “I was an exorcist before I was a shepherd.” He looked down and took a deep breath. Looking briefly into Stiles’ eyes again, he seemed to have come to a decision. “Have fun with your new friends,” he said. “Try not to get hurt.” And with that, he turned around and walked out of the bakery.

“Derek, I’m sorry!” Stiles called out to him, finally, but the door was already closed. 

“Let him go,” Kate said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Derek was never cut out for this life, but you are. Let them go back to taking care of a couple of ghosts a year. We take out a poltergeist practically every week, and a couple of demons to boot. We’re saving lives, Stiles. Don’t forget that.”

Stiles turned to look her in the eye and gave her a resolute nod. “Let’s get out of here,” he said, leading them back outside.

* * *

Derek tossed his keys into the bowl that he kept on side table by the door expressly for that purpose, gaining some small measure of satisfaction from their aggressive clink against the ceramic. He kicked off his shoes, pulled off his shirt, rolled it into a ball, and chucked it angrily into the corner.

So what if Stiles was choosing Kate over them? He didn’t care.

He pulled his jeans off in his bedroom, not worrying about where they fell, and picked up a pair of basketball shorts, put them on, and then his sneakers. Less than five minutes had gone by from when he walked in before he was out again and running.

Normally, running was something that he did because he liked it. Not today. He pushed himself harder than he normally did, almost sprinting, and told himself that the moisture stinging his eyes was only sweat. 

Ignoring all of the pale, blue, transparent bodies along the way was easy. When he saw a pale, tall, gangly body in plaid with a backpack slung over one shoulder, he crossed the street to avoid him. It wasn’t because he vaguely reminded him of Stiles. 

How many spirits had he exorcised before he found Deaton? It had been so long now, he’d forgotten. A hundred? More? How many more had gotten stuck in the world of the living because of what he’d done? There was no way to know.

Didn’t Stiles know about that? Allison and Scott had told him that Stiles knew, that Stiles knew about where he and Allison had come from.

Derek forced the thoughts from his mind and ran harder, pushing himself to exhaustion. 

Stiles was a grown man and could make his own decisions. He wasn’t going to stand in the way if this is what Stiles wanted.

He cut across the park, ignoring the ghosts of children playing among the living on the jungle gym and swing set. 

It was fine. I was totally fine. They didn’t need him. They’d been doing their thing for years before Stiles showed up, never mind that Stiles could do it so much faster than any of them could, and with far less recovery time needed afterwards. They would keep going, keep doing their work, even if it meant they had one more exorcist’s work to undo. Even though the task that had been set before them was all but impossible to do, even _with_ Stiles’ help. 

Derek shook his head, causing his vision to blur. It was starting to get dark, but he knew he still had at least an hour of decent light left.

He ran down the street, swerving around the other people and their dogs, trees, and parked cars. He ignored the burning in his lungs and in his legs. Not having the patience to wait at a red light, he rounded the corner instead, putting on a burst of speed. A nagging voice in the back of his mind told him he would pay for this later, but he ignored that, too.

What was Stiles thinking? Of all of the people he could have gone to, he chose Kate?

Derek set his mouth into a grim line, determined not to think about it. The rest of his run went by in a blur, the same thoughts circling over and over again until he made it back to his apartment, and collapsed on the couch.

He cracked his eye open to a beam of sunlight lancing across his face, and groaned. His body was in the exact same sprawled out position he had landed in the night before, and every muscle ached. It hurt to breathe.

Half sliding, half rolling onto the floor, he slowly pushed himself into an unsteady standing position, cursing everything about his life. 

Why had he done this again? Oh yeah. Stiles.

Stumbling to the shower, he shed his clothes and stood under the steady spray of hot water until his fingers had wrinkled like prunes. Then he stayed. Fuck the drought.

When he finally got out of the shower and sat down to have some breakfast, even though it was actually closer to lunchtime, he saw that he had several missed calls from Stiles. He turned off his phone. Fuck Stiles, too. Actually, Stiles could go fuck himself.

He thought about going over to Lucky Herb Co., but decided against it. He didn’t feel like seeing anyone today. At least, not anyone living. After watching the news for a bit, he decided he needed to do something productive, something that would get him out of his own head for a while. There was nothing better for that than shepherding a poltergeist. His last two attempts at shepherding had been complete disasters, and if he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t fully recovered yet. But, this was something he needed to do. Get back up on the horse, and whatnot. He’d had a couple of jobs on the backburner for a while, and now was as good a time as any. 

He fired off a text to Scott to let him know what he was doing, just in case, and turned his phone back off. His supplies were already in the car, so all he had to do was hop in and start driving to Oakland. He could take care of a poltergeist, just as good as Kate and her gang. Just as good as Stiles. And, he would do it alone. 

* * *

“Derek’s gonna take care of a poltergeist in Oakland,” Scott said, putting his phone back into his pocket.

“Is he ready for that?” asked Allison, lines of concern etched on her face.

Scott shrugged. “I don’t know. He wouldn’t go if he wasn’t, right?”

“Yes he would,” Lydia replied, matter-of-factly.

“I thought you were supposed to go with him on that job,” Allison said.

Scott shrugged again. “You know Derek’s gonna do what he wants. You try and stop him.”

“Derek told me he normally did his thing by himself,” Stiles said.

“He does,” Scott said, “But, sometimes on the more difficult ones, especially the poltergeists, he asks me to go with him.”

“This is a poltergeist, right?” Stiles asked, flinging his arms wide. “Shouldn’t you go with him?”

Scott shook his head “If he needs me, he’ll call,” he said, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Are you okay, Stiles? You seem kind of freaked out about this.”

“Of course it’s a big deal!” Stiles said. “It’s a freaking poltergeist! Those things are nuts! And, they’re dangerous!”

All three of them were looking at him like he was crazy.

“Stiles, this isn’t the first time Derek’s done this,” Allison said. “You know that, right?”

“The last time he did this, you gave him bed rest for a week!” Stiles exclaimed, gesturing at Scott.

“That was only because Kate and her crew interrupted him,” Scott said. “He would have been fine if that didn’t happen. He probably would’ve had to take it easy for a while, but he would’ve been fine.”

“Give me the address,” Stiles said, walking over to Scott. “I’ll go if you don’t want to.”

“Honey,” Lydia said, placing a hand on Stiles’ arm. “What has gotten into you? Derek does this all the time. Why are you so worried?”

“I’ve seen poltergeists, Lydia,” Stiles said. “They’re mean and they’re unpredictable. You have no idea what they’re capable of!”

“Uh, actually, yes, I do,” Lydia said, crossing her arms in front of her. “Just because Derek mostly deals with the ones that are turning into a poltergeist, or are already there, doesn’t mean that we’ve never dealt with them.”

“What?” Stiles asked, confused.

“Yeah, Stiles,” Allison said. “I told you I was an exorcist before I was a shepherd. Even though I’m a shepherd now, every once in a while I have to work with a poltergeist because I’m the one that’s there and it’s up to me to do it. Scott and Lydia, too.”

He looked around at them feeling more and more confused. “But, Kate said… I thought…” He slumped to the floor and sat with his back against the counter. 

Allison knelt down next to him. “Stiles, what’s wrong?”

He looked up guiltily at her. “I’ve been doing exorcisms with Kate.”

Allison blinked in surprise, but tried to temper her response. “Okay.”

“Derek saw me with them yesterday,” Stiles continued, “right after we finished doing one. He hasn’t answered any of my calls since. And, he won’t text me back.”

Allison was quiet for a moment. “Hey guys, can I talk to Stiles alone for a minute?”

“Sure,” Scott said, slowly backing away from the counter. “We’ll just be in the back room if you need us.”

Lydia gave Stiles a sad smile and followed Scott through the beaded curtain.

Allison sat down crossed-legged next to Stiles. “There’s something you don’t know about Derek and Kate, Stiles,” she said. “They kind of have a history.”

Stiles squeezed his forehead with the palms of his head like he had a migraine. “Do I want to hear this?”

“Probably not,” Allison admitted. She took a deep breath. “Kate and Derek dated for a while.”

Stiles gave her a shocked look, even though he pretty much already knew that was what she was going to say. “How? What? Derek’s only like a few years older than us. Kate’s your aunt!”

Allison shrugged. “Yes, but she’s only eleven years older than me. The point is, she and Derek were dating, and when Derek decided he didn’t want to do exorcisms anymore, she decided to break up with him. It took him a long time to get over that. Sometimes I wonder if he actually _is_ over it. And, seeing you working with her behind his back, let’s just say he’s not going to take something like that very well.”

She chewed on her top lip for a while. “Why did you do it?”

“I wanted to see what it was like,” he replied exasperated. “It wasn’t like I was choosing her over him. I needed to see what actual exorcisms were like, especially after what happened with the demon. Jackson and Isaac…” He trailed off, unable to finish what he was saying.

“There has to be a better way,” he said, finally. “A way that doesn’t get people killed.”

“We’re not going to try and stop you, Stiles, but you know how we feel about exorcism. You know how Derek feels.”

“But, it’s just a theory, right?” Stiles pressed. “All that stuff you told me about the barrier between our worlds, and stuff. That’s just theory.”

Allison looked down and nodded. “I can only tell you about my experiences, Stiles. I can’t transfer them to you so that you can know what I know. I don’t even think Scott or Lydia have participated in any exorcisms, so they can only tell you about shepherding side. But, I’ve been on both sides of it, and I know that shepherding is the better way. 

“You have an amazing gift as a shepherd. It would be such a waste for you not to use it. But, you have to do what you have to do. Maybe if I hadn’t started out as an exorcist, I’d be doing what you’re doing, too.”

Stiles sighed. “What do I do about Derek?”

“I think you just need to give him some space,” Allison said. “Give him some time. I’m sure he’ll come around. He can’t stay mad forever. I hope.”

Stiles chuckled. “I haven’t known him that long, but I’m pretty sure that man can hold a grudge for a really long time.”

Allison nodded seriously. “He can. He really can.”

She stared at him with a straight face until he burst out laughing. 

“Thanks, Allison,” Stiles said after a while. 

She smiled brightly at him. “Any time.”

* * *

Derek narrowed his eyes at the sound of his doorbell ringing. His phone was off, but he guessed that if he turned it on, he would have several missed calls from Stiles. He got up to look through the peephole, and sure enough, Stiles was standing there, looking expectant and nervous.

Stiles pounded on the door.

“I know you’re in there, Derek! Your car is parked outside!” he said loudly.

They hadn’t spoken in a couple of weeks, even though Stiles had tried calling him almost every day. This was the first time Stiles had come to his apartment.

Stiles rang the doorbell again, and Derek finally opened the door.

“What do you want, Stiles?” he asked, sounding tired.

Stiles took a step back, part of him not actually believing that Derek would come to the door.

“Hi,” he said, wringing his hands together in front of him. “You look good.”

Derek pressed his lips into a thin line, but gave no other indication that he heard what Stiles said.

“Can we talk?” Stiles asked.

“What is there to talk about?” Derek replied.

“Come on, Derek, don’t be like that,” Stiles said, stepping forward, but quickly stopping when Derek jerked his head back.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” Stiles continued. “I didn’t know about you and Kate.”

“Then, why were you hiding the fact that you were working with her from everybody?” Derek asked.

“I know how you all feel about the whole exorcism thing,” Stiles said, “and I knew how you all felt about Kate…”

“But, you did it anyway,” Derek said, cutting him off.

“I didn’t know about exorcisms before I met you guys,” Stiles said, pleading almost. “I needed to see it for myself. You and Allison grew up with that stuff; I didn’t. I’ve been shepherding all my life, even though I didn’t understand what it was. And, it worked for me. But then, you all pulled me into your world of poltergeists, and demons, and okay, I’ll admit that I’m in a little over my head here, but what do you want me to do, Derek? Pretend that Jackson and Isaac aren’t dead? Because they are! I needed to find out if that had to happen, or if it’s our fault for not doing what we should have done in the first place and exorcised that damned thing!”

Stiles looked to the side and angrily wiped away a tear that was rolling down his face.

“Do you know how often Kate and her team perform an exorcism?” Stiles asked, looking down at the ground.

He lifted his head to look at Derek when he didn’t answer. “Once a week,” Stiles said, “If not more. It doesn’t take them weeks of painting like you, or dose after dose of medicine like Scott. It takes Allison and Lydia days sometimes to shepherd your run-of-the-mill ghosts. Exorcism is safer, and there’s no recovery period. And, it’s pretty much a for sure deal. They can go from one exorcism to the next like that,” he finished, with a snap of his fingers.

Derek was looking at him with something akin to pity. “Do you know why we have a recovery period, Stiles?” Derek asked, stepping outside and crossing his arms over his chest. “Because, we go through it with them. That’s why we’re called shepherds. We shepherd them through the process of leaving this world and going into the next. We don’t rip a hole in reality and then shove them through like we’re taking out the trash! We are their guides on what is probably the scariest journey that they’ve ever had to go on, but that doesn’t come without a cost. We are literally dancing at death’s door every time we shepherd someone, but we do it because it’s the right thing to do.”

Derek hung his head and huffed out a breath. “All of these spirits, even the demons, they used to be people. A shepherd’s job is to help them remember that. They’re stuck here because they were pulled out of the natural process of dying and transition. When we help them work through whatever it was that got them off that track, then they can continue on the way they were supposed to, the way it’s supposed to happen. We don’t force them to go before their ready. That only makes things worse and makes it harder for other ghosts to cross over.”

“You don’t know that,” Stiles said stubbornly. “That’s just a theory. How can you know that? Deaton? How do you know he didn’t just make all of that up?”

“Because I feel it, Stiles,” Derek said. “I felt what it was like to do exorcisms, and I know what I feel every time I shepherd a ghost across. The work we do is important. I’ll take the recovery period over quick and easy any day.”

“So, that’s it?” Stiles asked. “You’re breaking up with me, just like that? Because, I want to do exorcisms? How does that make you any different from Kate?”

Stiles saw Derek flinch when he said it, but he wouldn’t have taken it back, even if he could.

“Goodbye, Stiles,” Derek said, turning around and walking back into his apartment. 

Stiles stood there, expecting Derek to look back. But, he didn’t.

 

* * *

Stiles lit the sulfur on fire and placed it in the salt circle. It was he easiest thing in the world. Jennifer finished the incantation, there was a flash of light, and the poltergeist was gone. He felt someone give him a congratulatory slap on the back.

“You’re getting pretty good at this!” Kate said, a big smile on her face. “Pretty soon, we’ll be able to split into two groups on a regular basis and take on these suckers two at a time!”

Stiles smiled and nodded. He had more money in his bank account than he’d ever had in his entire life, more than enough to take care of tuition next semester, and he really was getting good at the whole exorcism thing.

“Is that really safe?” he asked.

Kate shrugged. “We wouldn’t do it all the time. The only reason we couldn’t split up before was because we only had the twins. Now that you’re working with us, you can go with one group, and the twins can go with the other, everyone’s covered.”

Stiles slung his bag over his shoulder. “So, I guess we’re finished here. Just need to clean up and roll out.”

“We’re not done yet,” Ethan said. 

Everyone turned to look at him. He was holding Aiden’s hand.

“There’s another spirit in here,” Aiden continued.

Kate turned to Stiles and arched an eyebrow.

“It’s just a ghost,” Stiles said. “I thought we were here for the poltergeist.”

“Leaving a ghost behind is sloppy,” Kate said. “We get paid to clear spaces out, and that’s what we do.”

“If we leave it, it’ll just turn into a poltergeist eventually anyway,” Jennifer said, opening up her book again. “It’s better to just deal with it now.”

“That’s not true,” Stiles said. “Not all ghosts turn into poltergeists.”

“Is this going to be a problem?” Matt asked.

Stiles leveled a steely gaze at him. “No, it’s not.”

“Where is it, now?” he asked the twins.

“It’s in a room near the entrance.” Ethan said.

“We can get it on the way out,” Aiden added.

“Fine. Let’s go,” Stiles replied, stomping down the hallway.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw it. She was just a little girl. There was a doll in her hands. It was rare for a ghost to manifest anything besides itself and the clothes it was wearing, but it wasn’t unheard of. 

“Do you see it?” asked Kate.

Stiles nodded.

“Well, get to work,” she said, shoving a salt canister into his hands. 

Stiles walked a tight circle around the ghost, pouring the salt as he went. Unlike a poltergeist, the ghost just watched. They didn’t need to do anything special to keep her there. He tried not to think about what he was doing. Of all the exorcisms that he’d been involved with, this was the first time a ghost was also present. 

There was no guarantee that his gift would work with her; not every shepherd is able to work with every ghost. He tried to reel his senses in anyway, not wanting to know anything about her. Still, the impression came. Sticky peanut butter and sweet-tart grape jelly. The ghost wanted a sandwich.

Jennifer started reading out loud in Latin, and out of the corner of his eye, Stiles saw the ghost drop the doll and bring her hands to her mouth. The doll disappeared before it hit the floor.

“Hey, you know, this isn’t really necessary,” he said, holding out his hand towards Jennifer as her voice faltered.

“What are you doing?” asked Matt.

Stiles looked at Kate. “It’s really simple,” he said, glancing at the ghost and then back at Kate. “She just wants a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I could run to the store and get what we need; it would only take like twenty minutes.”

“Keep reading,” Kate instructed Jennifer. She turned back to look at Stiles as Jennifer’s voice filled the room. “Let me help you understand something,” she said, stepping closer to him. “Our job is to clear this building of ghosts, and that’s what we’re going to do. We’re here, and we have the tools to do it. We have a system; it works. At the end of the day, all that matters is that the ghost is gone, and then we get paid. That’s it.”

She held up the bowl filled with fresh sulfur for him to take. “Set the sulfur on fire, and put it in the circle.”

Stiles took a deep breath and took the bowl from her. As he walked to the circle, he saw that the ghost was covering her ears with her hands and was crying. It was the first time he had ever seen a ghost, other than a poltergeist or demon, make anything but the most minimal of expressions on their face.

He lit the sulfur and set the bowl down as thick yellow smoke blossomed over the rim. The ghost shook her head when she saw it and let out an ear splitting scream when the bowl touched the floor, causing Stiles to fall backwards and cover his own ears. This wasn’t the sound of a poltergeist screeching. This was a little girl screaming because she was afraid for her life. There was no hiding from the roiling waves of pain and fear emanating from her tiny body.

He watched in stunned silence as the others completed the ritual: the glowing salt line followed by the flash of light, all accompanied by Latin and sulfur smoke. He was in a daze as someone helped him to his feet, he didn’t know who, and he blinked at the sunlight when they made it outside. 

“Good work, team!” Kate was saying, as she tossed her bag into Matt’s car. “I’m working on getting another job lined up for us. In the meantime, get some rest. See you next week,” she said, winking at Stiles.

Stiles watched dumbly as she got into Matt’s car and they drove off.

“Bye, Stiles!” Jennifer called out to him, before driving off with the twins.

Stiles scrunched up his face and looked around at the too quiet parking lot. His Jeep was parked a few yards away from where he was standing. He’d forgotten that he had driven himself. 

Part of him wanted to just sit down right where he was, right on the asphalt. Not for any reason, it just felt like something he needed to do. But, he forced himself to walk, to put one foot in front of the other, until he made it to his Jeep, fumbling with his keys until he go the door unlocked. 

The next thing he knew, he was driving. Somehow, he ended up in front of Derek’s apartment. It wasn’t dark yet, but it was going to be in a few hours. He and Derek hadn’t seen or spoken to each other in over a month. Stiles even stopped trying to call him, after their fight. 

He didn’t even know why he was there; he doubted Derek would be happy to see him, but it wasn’t like it had been a conscious decision. Derek’s doormat was one of those coconut fiber deals, tough and scratchy, but Stiles sat down on it anyway. His hands felt like they were someone else’s hands. Someone else’s hands propped up on someone else’s knees. He wiggled his fingers and clenched his fists, and slowly tipped himself over until he was lying on his side with his back to the door. The coconut fibers poked his face. 

* * *

“Stiles.”

Someone was shaking him.

“Stiles, wake up.”

Stiles blinked slowly at the soft light of morning.

“What are you doing?” Derek asked from behind him.

Stiles jerked his head towards Derek’s voice, then scrambled to a standing position when he realized what happened.

“Oh, hi Derek,” he said, scrubbing the back of his head with the palm of his hand. “Sorry, I guess I fell asleep.”

“I see that,” Derek said, looking a little concerned. 

“Uh, I guess I’ll get going,” Stiles said, turning and walking away.

He felt his ears growing hot. What was he thinking?

“Stiles, wait!” Derek called out, jogging after him. “Are you gonna tell me what’s going on?”

Stiles bit his bottom lip to keep it from quivering, as tears welled up in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” he blubbered out, the tears falling as Derek gathered him in his arms. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. I should have listened to you.”

“Shhh,” Derek soothed, as he stroked the back of Stiles’ head. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have pushed you away like that.”

“It was…she was just a little girl,” Stiles sobbed. “She was so scared. She didn’t understand what we were doing. It felt like we killed her.”

“You don’t have to talk about it…”

“No,” Stiles said, cutting him off. “I do.” He stepped back from Derek, but didn’t let go of his hands. Derek’s hands. He should have trusted these hands. 

“Kate forced me to do an exorcism on a ghost,” he began, looking up at Derek’s face. 

Derek looked incredibly sad, but he didn’t say anything.

“I felt it,” Stiles continued. “I felt how scared she was. I felt how much we were hurting her. It wasn’t like it was with the poltergeists, but I could feel it with them, too. It wasn’t as strong, but I could feel it. I tried to tell myself that I didn’t. That kind of pain, that kind of fear, it has to leave a scar. I know it. I don’t know how, but I do.”

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

“I know I don’t deserve a second chance,” he said, sounding broken “Will you guys take me back? Please? I want to be a shepherd again.”

“Of course we’ll take you back, Stiles,” Derek said, pulling him in for a hug. “There was never any question about that.”

“Will _you_ take me back?” Stiles whispered, his voice cracking.

Derek grabbed the sides of Stiles’ head and looked him in the eyes. “I never stopped loving you,” Derek said. “I was pissed off, and hurt, and I didn’t want to talk to you for a while, but I was still in love with you. I _am_ still in love with you. You know that, right? I need you to know that.”

Stiles nodded, and Derek surged forward to kiss him. It was rough and desperate, but it was exactly what they needed. 

“Let’s go inside,” Derek said. “I’ll make us some tea.”

Stiles smiled and nodded as Derek wiped the tears from Stiles’ face.

“I love you, too,” Stiles said. “I guess I should told you sooner.”

Derek smiled and kissed him again, softly this time. 

“Come on, let’s go,” Derek said, leading Stiles by the hand as they headed inside.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I finally finished this! I've been at this whole fic writing thing for a while now, and this is only the third fic I've completed. Hope you enjoyed it! Come talk to me on tumblr if you want to gush about Sterek together! http://disseria.tumblr.com


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